Marion 

MXHf'i     "tf-*i  ^i 

s  Clelland 


KALEEMA 


"That  is  a  lie,"  she  said 


KALEEMA 


BY 


MARION  MCCLELLAND 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1921 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


PART  I 


2137036 


KALEEMA 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  a  dreary  town  of  snow-bound  North  Dakota  a 
girl  was  standing  before  a  make-up  shelf  and 
looking  into  a  cheap,  distorting  little  mirror  that 
elongated  her  pretty  nose  and  foreshortened  her 
chin  beyond  recognition.  A  feeble  light  in  a  cage 
hung  against  the  wall  over  the  glass.  She  had  just 
fastened  a  gilt  hoop  earring  on  one  of  her  ears  and 
was  idly  looking  into  her  own  darkish-gray  eyes  with 
their  dark  lashes  and  fine,  clear  lines  of  dark  brows ; 
but  her  thoughts  were  with  some  one  whom  she  sup- 
posed to  be  two  thousand  miles  away. 

In  that  supposition  she  was  wrong.  She  had 
once  been  somewhat  psychic  about  him,  but  half  a 
year  of  nerve-racking  uncertainty  had  deadened  that. 
To-night  she  might  well  be  tired  for  all  the  work 
she  had  just  done;  but,  though  the  wretched  cubby- 
hole of  a  dressing-room  was  icy  cold,  the  work  had 
only  sent  the  blood  rushing  through  her  young  body, 
making  her  feel  warm  and  just  ready  to  begin. 

But  "Camille"  of  Dillon  &  Skamon's  "  mag- 
3 


4  KALEEMA 

nificent  productions,"  had  expired  for  the  night ;  the 
last  curtain  was  down,  the  slim  audience  of  sniffling 
women  and  self-conscious  men  was  awkwardly  fil- 
ing out  of  the  theater,  while  back  of  the  gaudy  cur- 
tain the  untrained,  half -drunken  stage  hands  were 
raising  a  cloud  of  dust  as  they  noisily  shoved  the 
battered  scenery  and  furniture  across  the  small  stage. 
There  was  an  ominous  silence  among  the  dressing- 
rooms,  save  for  an  occasional  knock  and  "  come  in." 
A  fresh  vapor  of  the  actors'  tobacco  was  floating 
over  the  partitions  that  divided  the  dressing-rooms 
and  was  filling  the  dark,  musty  hall.  Somewhere 
out  of  sight  an  open  faucet  was  letting  a  small  stream 
of  water  splash  on  the  cement  floor  and  soak  a  pile 
of  posters  that  the  next  show  had  trustingly  sent 
on. 

Presently  the  knocking  came  to  the  girl's  door. 

"  Are  you  decent?  "  said  a  man's  voice  outside. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  she  answered ;  then,  "  Come 
in." 

When  the  man  went  in,  the  girl  had  slipped  a  waist 
over  her  bare  shoulders,  and  as  she  turned  toward 
him  she  gave  him  a  quick  little  smile  of  welcome. 
It  always  mystified  him  when  she  did  that.  He 
knew  little  but  guessed  a  good  deal  more  about  the 
person  who  was  not  two  thousand  miles  away. 
Yet  that  look  of  welcome  was  unmistakable,  and  the 
blood  in  him  rose  quickly  to  meet  it. 

She  was  so  lovable,  so  soft  and  warm  and  allur- 


KALEEMA  5 

ing.  It  always  disappointed  and  angered  him  when, 
the  next  instant,  her  lashes  were  lowered  and  the 
eyes  with  their  look  of  welcome  were  shut  away  from 
him.  To  Carney  it  was  very  nearly  like  a  slap  in 
the  face.  He  almost  hated  her  for  an  instant,  but 
as  she  had  never  encouraged  any  intimacy,  what 
right  had  he  to  be  angry  ?  With  all  her  quick  mag- 
netism it  seemed  to  George  Carney  that  she  was  sur- 
rounded by  an  invisible  wall. 

Most  of  the  company  took  her  for  a  wild  little 
animal.  Sarah  Skamon,  the  manager's  fat  wife, 
understood  her,  and  now  and  then  a  man  with  a  mite 
of  imagination  could  understand  her  —  as  tall  Sam 
Taney  could,  for  he  was  a  Jew,  very  keen  and  eager 
—  but  poor  big  Carney  had  no  imagination.  He 
was  just  a  man,  an  ex-pugilist,  with  a  sort  of 
smiled-in  dent  under  each  eye.  Besides  his  imagina- 
tion, Sam  had  his  violin.  That  opened  many  doors 
and  helped  him  understand  many  things.  Often, 
after  the  hotel  question  was  settled  and  Sam  had  at- 
tended to  the  mail  and  advised  Miss  Traxler  to  take 
a  nap,  to  get  her  out  of  the  way,  he  would  take  his 
violin  and  go  into  Kaleema's  room,  and  she  would 
embroider  perfectly  hideous  clothes  for  the  Giniven 
child  while  she  listened  to  him.  The  Giniven  child 
was  the  pest  of  Kaleema's  days  and  nights.  She  de- 
tested its  mother  and  father  so  profoundly  that  she 
pitied  the  unlovely  child.  She  saved  it  many  merci- 
less whippings,  just  to  spare  her  own  nerves,  so  she 


6  KALEEMA 

said,  and  at  night  she  often  jerked  it  into  her  own 
room  and  washed  and  hugged  and  kissed  it  and  made 
it  warm  and  comfortable  in  her  own  bed.  Nobody 
else  ever  kissed  the  tantalizing,  squalling  little  thing. 
Even  on  the  trains  she  worked  like  a  slave  embroid- 
ering for  it  those  unsuccessful  clothes.  Just  that 
day  she  had  finished  making  it  a  wadded  hood  of 
blood-red  satin  that  old  John  Crichton,  who  was 
Irish  and  English  and  therefore  knew  all  about  tea 
fixings,  said  looked  exactly  like  a  homely  tea  cozy. 

For  a  moment  George  Carney  looked  at  the  girl 
from  the  doorway,  then  he  went  to  her  and  put 
something  into  her  hand.  For  an  instant  she  gazed 
at  it,  then  she  shot  a  glance  of  withering  disgust  at 
him  and  began  talking  —  much  more  loudly  than 
was  necessary,  which  visibly  got  on  his  nerves. 

"  Three  dollars !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Great  big 
heavy,  chunky  silver  dollars.  Would  n't  that  trip 
a  snake?  " 

She  opened  his  overcoat  pocket  and  dumped  the 
whole  three  offending  dollars  into  it. 

"  I  say,  Carney,  take  those  back  to  that  old  Harry 
Skamon  and  don't  you  ever  come  near  my  door 
again  until  you  have  an  envelope.  I  need  some  real 
money ;  I  Ve  waited  long  enough  for  it ;  and  I  'm 
sick  and  tired  of  being  paid  off  like  a  cheap  dago 
with  a  pickax  that  can't  do  anything  better  than  dig 
up  the  sewer  gas  in  Sixth  Avenue." 

She  turned  him  around  and  pushed  him  out,  try- 


KALEEMA  7 

ing  to  slam  the  door ;  but  he  stood  there  smiling,  his 
fine  white  teeth  showing  and  the  dents  deepening  un- 
der his  eyes,  the  door  calmly  held  open  by  the  width 
of  his  broad  shoe. 

"  Better  take  it  when  you  can  get  it,"  he  said  peace- 
ably. 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  imperiously  waved  her 
hand  for  him  to  vanish.  But  he  did  not  vanish. 
Moreover,  her  hand  was  not  be  jeweled  as  the  hand 
of  the  magnificent  Camille  might  justifiably  have 
been,  but  instead  was  quite  bare  and  very  grimy. 
Both  her  soap  and  her  jewels  were  rattling  around 
in  the  bottom  of  her  trunk;  the  soap  as  hard  as  a 
rock,  and  the  jewels  divorced  from  their  settings. 

"How  will  you  pay  your  hotel  bill,  Kaleema?" 

"  Jump  it.  I  don't  care  if  I  do  disgrace  the  damn 
show.  You  owe  me  for  three  weeks." 

"  You  can't  spend  any  other  money  in  this  town." 

"  Yes,  I  can.     Have  to  buy  a  hat." 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  your  hat  ?  " 

"  Fell  into  the  water  pail  last  night." 

"Clean  water?" 

"  Whole  company  had  washed  in  it !  " 

"  Oh,  come  on,  'Leema.  Behave  yourself.  .  .  . 
Oh,  well,  if  you  don't  want  the  money  for  the  hotel 
it 's  not  up  to  me  to  force  it  on  you." 

He  knew  that  would  make  her  talk,  anyway.  And 
it  did.  She  turned  like  a  flash. 

"What  ails  that  old  Harry  Skamon?     Is   this 


8  KALEEMA 

show  closin'  ?  This  is  n't  the  first  time  we  've  been 
ditched  by  a  fool  leadin'  man.  Of  course  they  won't 
stay.  We  stay  " —  flinging  her  hands  into  the  air 
to  accentuate  her  disgust  — "  because  we  're  just  as 
happy  as  if  we  had  sense.  ...  I  would  n't  have 
your  job!  And  you  once  a  respectable  prize  fighter ! 
Carney,  I  'd  go  back  to  it  if  I  had  to  spend  my  life 
boxin'  a  kangaroo.  ...  I  would  n't  be  Skamon's 
business  manager !  In  the  first  place  there  's  no  busi- 
ness to  manage.  It 's  degradin' —  simply  degrad- 
in'." 

With  that  he  allowed  himself  to  be  pushed  out, 
and  she  closed  the  door.  The  ominous  silence  deep- 
ened as  he  went. 

Two  minutes  later  there  was  another  knock  at  that 
same  door.  This  time  it  was  the  departing  leading 
man.  He  put  his  suitcase  down  on  the  floor  and 
turned  up  his  coat  collar  ready  for  the  long  walk 
through  the  dark  and  cold  to  get  the  midnight  train 
that  went  east.  Because  he  was  young  and  a  de- 
cent sort,  he  felt  guilty  that  he  was  leaving  them, 
but  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  there  was  a  silent  cry 
of  joy  that  the  ordeal  was  over  and  he  was  going 
out  of  that  bleak  country.  Kaleema  knew  it,  too. 

"  Train 's  two  hours  late,"  he  observed  as  he 
stood  there.  "  Leaves  at  two  o'clock  instead  of  at 
midnight." 

"  Of  course,"  she  responded  lightly,  rubbing  off 
a  streak  of  paint  under  her  eye.  "  Ain't  it  hell !  " 


KALEEMA  9 

"  Good-by,  Miss  West,"  he  said.  "  You  've  been 
a  brick  of  a  friend  to  have  with  a  show.  I  '11  see  you 
again,  I  know  I  shall." 

"  You  never  will,"  she  said  cynically.  "  I  never 
run  across  any  of  the  boys  who  stay  sober.  It 's 
the  others  I  see  —  when  they  've  a  skinful  and  need 
a  shave."  Then,  earnestly,  "  I  wish  to  God  that  I 
were  going,  too." 

She  was  fastening  the  other  hoop  earring  on 
the  other  ear,  and  again  looking  at  herself  in 
the  dizzy  mirror.  The  earrings  were  immensely 
becoming. 

"  Why  don't  you  go,  Miss  West?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  why  don't  I  ?  "  she  drawled  mockingly. 

She  began  screwing  the  top  on  her  can  of  cold 
cream  and  throwing  things  into  the  tray  of  her  trunk, 
the  earrings  dangling  wildly  at  her  ears.  Suddenly 
she  began  fumbling  with  something  and  talked  with- 
out looking  at  him. 

"  Do  me  a  favor?  Remember  that  dreadful 
woman  who  was  begging  last  summer  on  Broadway 

—  around  Times  Square  and  down  as  far  as  Macy's 

—  short  hair,  and  a  little  black  hat  —  selling  pencils 
and    whining     '  Please    help     a     poor     paralyzed 
woman '  ?  " 

Yes,  he  remembered  her.  "  About  as  paralyzed 
as  I  am,"  he  commented. 

"  Perhaps.  But  if  you  get  back  there  and  see 
her,  give  her  this."  Kaleema  put  a  dollar  into  his 


10  KALEEMA 

limp  hand.  "  Last  night  I  had  a  dream  and  she  was 
in  it." 

As  she  spoke  she  turned  back  to  the  powder  and 
confusion  on  the  shelf. 

"  One  whole  dollar!  "  groaned  the  departing  lead- 
ing man.  "  Two  dinners  at  Joubert's." 

"  Once  I  knew  a  woman  who  had  that  same  kind 
of  slow  voice,"  Kaleema  responded. 

"  But  I  'm  not  going  to  Broadway ;  it 's  only  Ran- 
dolph and  Clark  this  winter." 

"  Then  give  it  there  —  to  any  woman  who  looks 
as  if  she  had  crawled  out  into  the  daylight  after  a 
dreadful  night." 

He  dropped  the  money  into  his  pocket,  picked  up 
his  suitcase  and  went  out,  closing  her  door.  For 
the  wild  hoodlum  that  she  really  was,  she  was  very 
depressing  all  of  a  sudden. 

A  few  minutes  later  George  Carney  came  back 
to  the  theater  for  something.  The  place  was  de- 
serted. Even  the  trunks  had  gone,  and  her  door 
was  standing  open ;  but  the  light  was  on  and  he  went 
and  looked  in.  She  was  still  there. 

"  You  here !  "  he  said  in  surprise.  "  Everybody 
has  gone.  It 's  a  wonder  they  did  n't  lock  you  in." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered. 

He  started  to  ask  something,  then  stopped.  He 
was  wondering  where  the  boys  were  who  usually 
took  her  to  a  restaurant  and  back  to  the  hotel. 

"  I  'm  mad  at  everybody  and  tired  out,"  she  went 


KALEEMA  n 

on,  "  and  the  leadin'  man  's  skipped  and  Heaven 
knows  what  we  '11  draw  now.  If  he 's  a  fright, 
he'll  stay;  if  he's  fit  to  be  seen,  he'll  go.  I  bet 
the  next  one  will  whistle  in  the  dressing-room.  If 
he  does,  I  '11  break  his  head.  This  chap  that  just 
left  would  n't  admit  it,  but  I  know  perfectly  well 
that  he  has  a  home.  If  managers  were  wise  to  this 
game  they  would  n't  take  anybody  but  penniless 
orphans.  Compared  to  a  signed  certificate  from  an 
orphan  asylum,  experience  and  press  notices  would 
mean  nothing."  She  made  a  face  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders  up  under  the  hoop  earrings.  "  And  I 
had  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  my  trunk,  too !  " 

Her  hat  and  jacket  were  hanging  on  a  nail,  and 
she  was  fastening  her  belt.  As  he  stood  there 
watching  her  he  was  a  serious,  good-looking,  busi- 
ness-like man,  with  the  odd  dent  in  the  cheek  under 
each  eye.  Perhaps  he  was  born  with  those  dents, 
but  they  seemed  as  if  he  had  smiled  them  in.  It 
was  his  physical  perfection  that  had  first  made  her 
notice  him.  He  was  clean  and  strong,  with  the 
ease  and  freedom  of  his  own  consciousness  of  these 
things.  She  did  n't  bother  with  the  fact  that  he 
had  finally  broken  in  training,  or  that  there  could 
ever  have  been  anything  brutal  in  his  life;  but  with 
him,  as  with  the  acrobats  she  knew,  the  something 
pagan  in  her  took  recognition  of  the  way  the  head 
was  poised  on  the  shoulders  and  the  firmness  of  the 
mold.  She  had  never  seen  a  fine  statue,  but  many 


12  KALEEMA 

a  time  she  had  stood  in  the  tent  or  in  the  wings,  her 
keen  eyes  watching  the  muscles  of  the  circus  men 
work  and  tighten  under  the  naked  skin. 

Carney  never  said  very  much,  but  she  did  not  have 
to  look  at  him  to  know  what  was  in  his  face  just 
then.  And  she  dared  not  look.  She  wanted  it  so 
much  —  his  affection  —  just  because  it  went  a  little 
deeper,  a  good  deal  deeper,  than  the  banter  and 
nonsense  of  every  day.  She  knew  it  so  well  —  the 
old  longing  and  heart-hunger  of  the  road,  where  all 
faults  are  worn  on  the  outside,  and  the  primitive  in- 
stincts, too.  She  talked  on  cheerfully,  hurrying  to 
get  out  of  the  stillness  of  the  building,  keenly 
aware  that  it  was  not  often  that  he  came  to  her  door 
this  way.  Carney  tried  not  to  look  at  her.  He  al- 
ways kept  away  from  her  when  things  were  relaxed 
and  quiet  after  the  show. 

"  You  're  queer,  Kaleema,"  he  said.  "  I  don't 
believe  you  ever  had  a  sweetheart  with  a  show." 

"  Just  chums  are  better  —  like  the  boys.  They  're 
easier  to  manage.  And  every  time  you  speak  to 
somebody  else  they  don't  go  on  the  warpath." 

"  And  it  does  n't  hurt  so  when  it  is  over,"  said  the 
man. 

She  could  not  speak,  and  the  next  instant  he  was 
beside  her,  holding  her  in  his  arms  with  her  head 
back,  her  face  very,  very  close  to  his  own. 

"  Don't,  Carney,"  she  said  sharply.  "  Let  me 
go." 


KALEEMA  13 

For  a  moment  he  held  her  fiercely,  then  let  her  go 
and  stood  looking  at  her,  wondering  why  he  was  such 
a  fool  that  she  could  stop  him. 

Kaleema  jerked  down  her  hat  and  jacket  and  put 
them  on  as  she  and  Carney  crossed  the  deserted  stage 
and  went  out  into  the  cold  wind. 

Less  than  a  hundred  miles  away,  in  the  Park 
Hotel  at  Three  Rivers,  a  young  man  just  that  day 
arrived  from  the  East  was  waiting  and  shivering  in 
his  room.  He  had  left  the  evening  crowd  collected 
in  the  warm  office  below  —  the  office  and  the  kitchen 
being  the  only  warm  places  in  the  hotel  —  and  sat 
huddled  in  his  overcoat  for  the  sake  of  being  alone. 
Angry  impatience  was  smoldering  within  him,  for 
to  make  sure  that  he  would  not  arrive  too  late  he 
had  come  a  day  too  soon. 

He  was  a  very  different  sort  from  those  who  usu- 
ally came  this  way.  He  was  slight  but  tall;  his 
head  was  handsome,  with  close-cut  hair  brushed 
well  off  the  brow.  He  had  the  air  of  a  subordinate 
who  was  highly  trained  to  come  in  contact  with  im- 
portant men  and  to  be  discreet  about  big  business. 
He  was  well  dressed,  and  his  hands  were  unusually 
white  for  a  man.  Cleanliness  fairly  radiated  from 
him. 

His  head  was  bent  over  a  scattering  of  business 
letters  that  he  was  trying  to  answer,  but  between  his 
eyes  and  the  page  there  kept  appearing  to  his  mental 
vision  a  girl's  face  —  sweet  and  restless  and  weak 


14  KALEEMA 

and  strong,  but  in  her  eyes  there  was  no  answer. 
He  admitted  now  that  he  loved  her;  he  thought  — 
but  only  thought  —  that  she  loved  him.  He  kept 
seeing,  too,  very  vividly  the  place  where  he  had 
first  seen  her  in  New  York  —  a  cheap  boarding- 
house  in  West  Thirty-eighth  Street  where  he  had 
gone  with  another  fellow  that  hot  Saturday  after- 
noon. The  hurdy-gurdy  music  was  resounding 
loudly  through  the  sweltering  street  and  booming 
in  at  the  open  windows.  She  was  sitting  on  the 
stairs,  throwing  pennies  to  the  hand-organ  child  who 
had  come  into  the  lower  hall.  Then  suddenly  the 
hand-organ  monkey  escaped  and  ran  in,  and  she 
was  afraid  of  it  and  ran  screaming  up  the  stairs, 
the  monkey  at  her  heels,  tripped  on  her  dress  and 
fell  right  in  front  of  him.  Of  course  he  picked 
her  up,  and  of  course  the  two  boys  gazed  at  her 
pretty  face  while  she  swore  shockingly  at  the  fright- 
ened monkey,  and  kept  them  all  laughing  for  half  an 
hour  afterward.  And  of  course  another  girl  came 
into  the  hall  to  investigate  the  excitement,  and  then 
they  all  had  dinner  together  at  a  cheap  cafe. 

In  his  face  there  was  not  the  stamp  of  many 
decisions,  but  perhaps  that  was  because  he  was 
young. 


CHAPTER  II 

LONG  past  train-time  the  next  day  the  young 
man  in  the  dreary  hotel  was  still  waiting.  The 
natives  were  accustomed  to  this  state  of  affairs,  but 
the  stranger  was  not,  and  he  kept  running  down- 
stairs to  ask  questions,  until  the  old  man  in  the 
office  audibly  wished  to  Heaven  that  he  had  never 
come  near  the  town.  What 's  to  be  expected  of  a 
railroad  when  it 's  buried  three  feet  under  the  snow ! 

Four  miles  away  was  Sunflower  Junction. 

"If  we  ever  live  to  get  home  we  '11  all  go  to  a 
resort  for  invalids,"  said  Sarah  Skamon,  coming 
back  into  the  junction  station  and  banging  the  door 
against  the  blizzard.  Sarah  was  fat  and  short,  with 
big  black  eyes  and  swarthy  skin.  She  was  about 
forty-five  years  old,  looking  sixty  in  the  daytime 
and  sixteen  at  night  when  she  had  on  a  short  dress 
and  her  soubrette  wig  with  a  pink  bow  pinned  over 
one  ear.  Now  she  was  playing  Prudence  and  she 
hated  it,  too.  She  liked  much  better  to  be  a  sou- 
brette and  sing.  That,  however,  distressed  poor  old 
Harry;  even  Trilby,  the  big,  fat,  lazy,  white  dog, 
winced  at  her  top  notes. 

"  No  resort  for  me,  not  when  I  'm  sober,"  re- 
15 


16  KALEEMA 

sponded  Kaleema.  "  Once  I  went  to  Atlantic  City, 
and  inside  of  a  week  I  was  engaged  to  a  cripple. 
I  'm  that  kind-hearted." 

She  took  a  look  at  her  cards  and  threw  a  penny 
on  the  suitcase  that  was  balanced  on  a  few  knees 
to  serve  as  a  table.  For  a  minute  Mr.  Giniven 
pondered  and  kept  the  game  waiting. 

"  Grout,"  she  continued  to  enlighten  the  company. 
"  Legs  the  size  of  his  waist.  And  he  was  no  fairy." 

"What  became  of  him?"  asked  Sarah.  Being 
fat,  she  was  inclined  to  be  sympathetic. 

"  Went  on  the  rampage,"  replied  Kaleema. 
"  Threw  a  shoe  at  me  and  his  servant.  You  know 
how  long  I  stood  for  that.  ...  Go  on,  Giniven, 
or  quit  playin' !  You  have  n't  brains  enough  to 
think  for  half  an  hour  without  hurtin'  your  head. 
.  .  .  That  night  I  went  to  the  pier  and  danced  with 
a  guy  I  did  n't  know,  and  the  next  morning  I  beat 
it.  He's  lucky  if  God  and  his  mother  still  love 
him.  .  .  .  Say,  Giniven,  is  this  a  game  of  poker  or 
an  absent  treatment?  " 

Jimmy  Giniven,  thus  pressed,  put  down  a  penny, 
then  regretted  it.  Miss  Florence  Daymond,  other- 
wise Mrs.  Jimmy  Giniven,  had  already  lost  five  cents, 
so  she  slammed  down  her  cards  and  left,  and  the 
suitcase,  deprived  of  her  knee,  tipped  wistfully. 

"  Gee,  she 's  lost  five  cents !  "  yelled  Kaleema. 
"  Say,  that  would  buy  a  pie  for  the  kid  or  a  whole 
slam  handwich.  Gee!  but  they  've  got  speed." 


KALEEMA  17 

"  Shut  up,  'Leema,"  said  Sarah. 

The  quarreling  and  wrangling  began  all  over 
again.  Carney  was  watching  Kaleema,  wondering 
if  she  would  n't  be  equally  sweet  and  lovable  if  she 
had  some  manners.  He  hated  a  racket.  She  knew 
it,  and  suddenly  she  looked  at  him  and  smiled. 

A  Swedish  countrywoman  sitting  in  a  corner 
behind  the  stove  looked  frightened  and  gathered  in 
her  children.  Save  for  them,  the  company  had  a 
monopoly  of  the  station  for  the  time  being.  Miss 
Godiva  Traxler,  a  wispy  blond,  sat  in  a  corner  read- 
ing "  Science  and  Health." 

"What  doin',  Miss  Traxler?"  shouted  Kaleema. 

"  Minding  my  own  business,"  shouted  back  Miss 
Traxler. 

Nobody  dared  laugh. 

"  Good  night !  "  said  Kaleema.  "  Lord,  you  must 
be  blue." 

"  Such  swearing !  "  expostulated  Sarah,  but  no- 
body heard  her.  The  men  were  talking  angrily,  and 
Kaleema  was  laughing. 

"  It 's  not  that  I  care,  but  I  hate  a  crooked  game," 
said  somebody. 

"  Crooked !  "  yelled  Mr.  Giniven.  "  Don't  judge 
others  by  yourself.  See?  " 

It  was  pandemonium  let  loose.  Old  John 
Crichton  was  n't  in  the  game  but  he  hated  Giniven 
so  that  he  was  telling  him  what  he  thought  of  him. 
Charley  Forbes,  whose  two  hundred  and  ten  pounds 


i8  KALEEMA 

seemed  to  consist  mostly  of  profanity,  was  saying 
all  he  knew,  and  Sam  Taney,  his  black  eyes  flashing, 
was  silently  waiting  to  exterminate  the  whole  crowd 
in  the  next  deal.  The  man  behind  the  ticket  window 
looked  perfectly  disgusted. 

"  Next  season,"  said  Kaleema,  "  I  'm  goin'  to  take 
out  a  show  of  my  own.  No  kids  or  ^.r-managers 
wanted.  That  lets  out  some  of  my  best  friends. 
See?" 

"  Better  carry  your  own  audience,  too,"  suggested 
Miss  Daymond,  "  and  let  'em  in  on  that.  You  '11 
need  'em." 

"  'Leema,  shut  up,"  said  Sarah,  pushing  her 
shoulder.  But  it  was  no  use.  Kaleema  was  started. 

"  I  knew  we  were  goin'  to  pull  off  a  fight  to-day," 
she  was  announcing. 

"Yes?  Who  told  you?"  This  sarcastically 
from  Mr.  Giniven. 

"Sportin'  editor  of  the  'War  Cry,'"  politely 
answered  Kaleema. 

The  ticket  agent,  who  was  a  man  of  resource, 
quickly  decided  that  if  they  took  to  killing  one  an- 
other he  would  pull  the  Swedes  into  the  office  and 
barricade  the  door. 

"  A  hot  bunch,"  he  remarked  to  the  telegraph 
operator,  who  agreed  with  him  perfectly.  They 
were  sure  that  all  had  been  drinking,  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact  nobody  but  old  John  Crichton  had  seen  a 
drop  for  days.  He  drank  instead  of  eating. 


KALEEMA  19 

Sarah  tried  again. 

"  Harry,  make  them  behave.  Harry !  Heaven 
forgive  me  that  I  should  ever  live  to  call  that  wab- 
bling man  my  husband ! "  This  last  was  directed 
to  the  stove  or  the  coal  scuttle  or  whomsoever  it 
might  concern,  as  she  swept  past  the  big,  fat,  despised 
Harry.  But  as  Harry  was  the  manager  and  not 
very  popular  just  then,  he  had  sense  enough  to  mind 
his  own  business;  so  from  out  the  depths  of  his 
scraggy  fur  collar  he  continued  to  gaze  silently  and 
raptly  through  the  grimy  window  at  the  snow. 
Mentally  he  was  vowing  never  again  to  so  much 
as  look  at  snow  pudding.  As  for  Sarah,  he  never 
paid  much  attention  to  her  suggestions,  anyway. 
To  him  she  was  still  a  child.  When  she  was  only 
sixteen  he  had  taken  her  home  to  his  mother,  who 
made  her  her  first  long  dress  to  be  married  in.  In 
a  way,  it  was  like  a  boy  who  finds  a  stray  dog, 
takes  it  home,  feeds  it,  loves  it  and  makes  a  chum 
of  it. 

John  Crichton,  he  of  the  frayed  clothes  and  fine 
intelligence,  had  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could,  so  he 
went  out  to  pace  the  platform  in  the  driving  wind,  a 
smile  half  tolerant,  half  cynical,  on  his  once  hand- 
some face.  Cold  as  it  was,  he  forgot  his  overcoat 
and  left  it  inside.  This  was  for  two  reasons,  though 
from  one  cause.  He  was  always  drinking,  so  that 
he  did  not  so  much  feel  the  cold,  and  to  buy  the 
drink  the  overcoat  was  often  sold.  He  so  seldom 


20  KALEEMA 

had  one  that  he  forgot  it  when  he  had  it.  Always 
the  flush  of  liquor  was  in  his  face,  but  his  work  was 
invariably  perfect,  and  to  a  woman  he  was  ever  the 
same  kind,  courteous  gentleman. 

Above  the  din  there  was  a  whine  over  in  the  pile 
of  luggage,  and  Mrs.  Giniven  went  to  see  if  it  were 
the  Skamon  dog  or  the  Giniven  child.  Apparently 
it  was  the  Skamon  dog,  for  the  Giniven  child  lay 
pallid  and  still,  asleep  on  the  bench,  one  grimy  hand 
grasping  the  out-grown  go-cart,  more  ridiculous  than 
ever  in  the  face  of  the  snow. 

"  Oh,  come  on ;  be  a  sport  and  put  up  your  pink 
ring,  Charley,"  suggested  Kaleema.  "  I  '11  put  up 
my  ti-ra-ra." 

"  I  paid  fifty  dollars  for  that  ring,  Miss  West," 
said  Charley.  He  was  very  young,  and  he  had  a 
little  mustache.  Also,  he  was  a  rich  man's  son  and 
he  could  n't  forget  it,  nor  did  he  want  anybody  else 
to  forget  it.  Every  week  he  got  money  from  his 
mother.  And  he  went  to  the  best  hotels.  His 
father  considered  him  legally  dead,  and  fervently 
hoped  he  soon  would  be,  physically. 

"  Yes,  we  have  heard  that  before,"  observed 
Giniven,  very  dryly. 

"  Sure,  that 's  all  right,  Charles,  my  boy ;  we  all 
know  you  're  a  darn  fool,"  said  Kaleema. 

"'Dam,'  is  it?"  came  from  Mrs.  Giniven's 
direction.  "  Sure,  you  must  be  reforming." 

"  I  'm  glad  that  it  is  noticeable,"  Kaleema  retorted 


KALEEMA  21 

urbanely,  a  tantalizing  inflection  in  her  voice;  but, 
though  it  passed  unobserved,  a  quick  flush  covered 
her  face.  All  unwittingly  Mrs.  Giniven  had  touched 
a  deep  secret  of  the  girl's  soul.  She  was  reforming. 
And  she  was  mightily  ashamed  of  it. 

Charley  Forbes  threw  the  stub  of  his  cigarette  on 
the  floor  and  planted  his  large  foot  on  it. 

"  I  '11  put  it  up  against  every  scrap  of  your  false 
hair,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  and  staring  at  the 
girl. 

For  an  instant  she  looked  into  his  bold,  round, 
stupid  eyes.  She  was  thinking  of  Camille's  pretty 
golden  wig  with  its  soft  little  curls.  She  did  love 
it.  She  knew  she  could  n't  work  or  even  remember 
her  lines  without  it.  She  had  paid  ten  dollars  for 
it.  And  Charley  was  lucky,  and  she  was  not. 

"  Done,"  she  said,  very  faintly. 

Sam  handed  over  the  cards,  and  Charley  shuffled 
and  dealt  them. 

Kaleema  looked  bored  and  drew  four.  Charley 
looked  bored  and  drew  one.  The  hand  was  played 
and  Charley  won. 

Kaleema  whistled  softly  through  her  teeth,  then 
she  sang  softly : 

"There  won't  be  any  show  to-night, 
The  leadin'  lady  's  lost  her  tights." 

"  Well,  anyway,  this  is  a  good  time  to  get  full  to 
the  wig-band,"  she  observed. 


22  KALEEMA 

The  big  fellow  leaned  back  and  laughed  uproari- 
ously, a  coarse  chuckle,  his  derby  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  his  fingers,  stained  to  the  knuckles  by  ciga- 
rettes, sprawled  on  his  knees,  the  pink  ring  very 
obvious. 

Kaleema  was  thinking. 

"  Charley,"  she  said,  "  I  '11  play  you  another  hand. 
You  put  up  the  wig  and  I  '11  put  up  my  nightgown, 
and  honest  to  Gawd  I  have  n't  but  one." 

Charley  shuffled  and  dealt.     Kaleema  won. 

She  was  through,  and  she  got  up  and  left  him 
chuckling  deeper  and  longer.  He  had  plenty  of 
good  nature,  a  readiness  both  to  work  and  to  boast 
—  and  to  cheat  the  railroads  about  the  baggage. 

Miss  Traxler  went  out  to  fill  her  lungs  with 
fresh  air,  Charley  following  her.  She  jumped  up 
on  an  empty  truck  and  sat  watching  an  old  freight 
train  coming  down  the  track.  It  entered  Charley's 
head  to  give  her  a  ride.  He  seized  the  handles  and 
rushed  the  truck  down  the  length  of  the  platform, 
out  to  the  very  edge,  and  suddenly  swung  it  around 
the  corner.  Having  nothing  to  hold  to,  there  was 
only  one  possible  thing  for  Miss  Traxler  to  do,  so 
she  promptly  did  it.  She  shot  through  the  air  and 
landed  on  her  hands  and  knees  in  the  middle  of  the 
track,  her  blue  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  approaching 
freight  cars.  They  were  then  about  a  hundred  feet 
away.  Charley  stood  as  if  struck  dumb  and  glued 
to  the  platform,  so  Godiva  picked  herself  up  and 


KALEEMA  23 

stepped  out  of  the  way  as  the  cars  jerked  over  the 
spot  where  she  had  landed. 

"  You  've  torn  your  dress,"  Charley  said  limply. 

"  /  have  torn  my  dress  ? "  demanded  Godiva. 
"  Yes,  and  /  have  skinned  my  knees  and  hands  and  / 
have  lost  my  Christian  Science  book  under  the  freight 
train.  And  our  train  will  come  before  that  big  snail 
gets  out  of  the  way !  " 

"  No  danger  of  that,  Miss  Traxler,"  interrupted 
John  Crichton,  who  was  by  that  time  brushing  the 
snow  from  her  dress.  "  Open  my  bag  and  get  the 
liniment,  Charley." 

Charley's  power  of  locomotion  returned,  and  when 
he  came  back  with  the  liniment  his  tongue  was 
running  in  profuse  apologies,  while  they  were  sop- 
ping her  bruises. 

Inside  the  station  Kaleema  went  to  look  at  the 
Giniven  child.  It  was  fat  and  fluffy  and  spoiled ;  a 
wave  of  bitterness  swept  over  the  girl  as  she  stood 
there.  The  blood-red  bonnet  accentuated  its  pallor 
(it  seldom  got  any  air  and  was  fed  mostly  on  pie), 
and  she  saw  that  there  were  dark  blue  circles  under 
its  eyes.  The  sound  of  some  of  its  past  punish- 
ments came  ringing  in  her  ears  and  made  her  shud- 
der. She  looked  over  at  the  mother  —  as  she  had 
looked  a  hundred  times  —  selfish,  coarse,  with  full 
lips  and  bold  eyes,  once  a  burlesque  woman;  then 
at  the  young  father,  a  cad,  dressed  in  freakish 
clothes,  looking  like  a  fool.  From  him  her  glance 


24  KALEEMA 

met  squarely  and  suddenly  the  honest  gray  eyes  of 
Carney  who  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  Some  day  that  kid  will  just  fit  into  her  mother's 
tights,"  she  said  bitterly. 

She  went  to  a  window  and  looked  out.  It  was  the 
back  of  the  station  and  she  could  not  see  where  the 
railroads  crossed,  but  she  could  look  ahead  and  see 
where  one  road  disappeared  in  the  distance.  The 
tracks  had  been  cleared  recently,  and  on  either  side 
was  a  ridge  of  snow.  At  a  short  distance  from  the 
station  was  a  shed;  and  before  it  some  old  farm 
implement  which,  covered  over  as  it  was,  made  a 
white  mound.  At  a  little  distance  was  a  long,  low 
row  of  old  wooden  buildings  —  an  eating  place, 
a  harness  shop,  a  grocery,  two  saloons,  a  hotel. 
Hidden  somewhere,  of  course,  was  a  wagon  road. 
As  the  girl  gazed  idly,  a  figure  emerged  from  the 
side  of  the  station.  It  was  a  woman  plodding  to- 
ward the  old  wooden  row.  The  wind  was  not  blow- 
ing hard  now,  but  presently  she  fell.  She  lay  still 
for  a  moment,  then  she  staggered  to  her  feet  and 
continued  her  uncertain  way.  After  a  short  dis- 
tance she  fell  again,  and  again  she  lay  quite  still. 
She  was  evidently  getting  her  breath.  But  this  time 
it  seemed  longer;  then  her  head  fell  forward,  and 
Kaleema  saw  that  around  her  neck  was  a  soiled 
bright  ribbon.  In  the  next  breath  the  girl's  hand 
was  on  the  doorknob,  and  as  she  slipped  out  she 
quietly  closed  the  door  after  her.  When  she  reached 


KALEEMA  25 

the  woman,  she  bent  over  and  looked  at  her;  at 
the  old  ribbon  that  was  wet  and  staining  her  neck, 
at  her  face  —  yes,  in  that  condition  she  would  have 
frozen  in  an  incredibly  short  time.  Kaleema  shook 
her  and  made  her  get  up. 

"  Thanks,  dearie,  thank  you  so  much.  Is  n't  this 
dreadful  weather,  darling?  Yes,  darling,  I  can  go 
alone.  Yes,  I  '11  hurry." 

But  the  girl  waited  until  she  had  disappeared 
behind  a  sheltering  door. 

Kaleema  looked  sharply  at  the  track,  the  shed, 
the  mound,  the  row  of  old  wooden  buildings.  She 
took  a  deep  breath.  She  understood.  She  had  seen 
so  many  of  those  weary  faces,  and  heard  so  many  of 
those  fumbling,  scant-breathed  voices;  the  soiled 
bright  ribbons  were  like  links  of  a  chain  of  pity 
dragged  through  her  life.  But  she  had  found  it  use- 
less to  think  against  God. 

As  she  reentered  the  station  the  front  door  sud- 
denly opened  and  John  Crichton  came  in  briskly  and 
picked  up  his  bag.  He  completely  forgot  his  over- 
coat. 

At  last  the  train ! 


CHAPTER  III 

FOR  some  minutes  the  office  of  the  Park  Hotel 
at  Three  Rivers  had  been  deserted.  Ice  and 
snow  covered  the  windows,  and  a  broken  pane, 
stuffed  up  with  newspapers,  let  the  wind  sift  through. 
To  the  right  was  the  desk  and  the  narrow  flight  of 
stairs ;  to  the  left  were  the  swinging  barroom  doors, 
with  the  sociable  sound  of  voices  beyond.  The  stove 
was  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  on  it  was  a  pail 
of  water  that  was  supposed  to  be  heating.  Vain 
hope! 

In  the  windows  facing  the  street  and  above  the 
desk  were  sheets  of  flaring  show-paper  announcing: 

DILLON  &  SKAMON 

MANAGERS 


OPERA  HOUSE 

JANUARY  7 

CAMILLE 

A  county  map  and  railroad  time-tables  were  hang- 
ing on  the  walls.  Newspapers  were  scattered  about 
on  chairs,  table,  and  floor,  and  a  small  rusty  oil- 
stove  was  pushed  into  a  corner. 

Presently  a  surly  middle-aged  man  came  in,  half 
26 


KALEEMA  27 

frozen,  his  mustache  covered  with  frost.  He  closed 
the  door  with  a  bang,  then  went  to  the  stove  and 
looked  in.  Black  as  night  in  there,  and  he  closed 
that  door  also  with  a  bang;  then  he  buttoned  his 
overcoat  again,  picked  up  a  newspaper  and  sat  down 
by  the  writing  table.  The  next  instant  the  swinging 
doors  opened  and  the  old  landlord  came  in.  The 
noise  had  done  that  much,  anyway. 

"  Did  you  meet  the  train?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Meet  the  train !  "  repeated  Adam  James,  giving 
the 'newspaper  a  jerk.  "  No.  I  've  something  else 
to  do  besides  standing  on  a  platform  this  weather 
waiting  for  an  engine  to  come  along."  Then  he 
added,  "  I  've  been  up  at  the  mine.  The  trains  can't 
get  through." 

"  Eastern 's  just  come.  Boys  just  telephoned. 
Two  hours  late.  H'ope  the  show  gets  in  on  the 
Southern.  Coin'  to  the  Oprey  House  to-night?  " 

"  No." 

The  old  man  busied  himself  about  the  desk,  then 
gazed  at  the  zigzags  of  frost  on  the  windows  for  a 
while. 

"  Wakes  a  place  up  to  have  a  company  come 
along,"  he  observed.  He  hated  silence,  especially  in 
mean  weather.  "  The  first  one  that  ever  came  this 
way  brought  the  Gipsy — " 

"  It  did  ?  "  interrupted  James. 

"  Came  the  first  year  I  had  this  place.  My,  but 
she  had  handsome  eyes !  " 


28  KALEEMA 

"  Yes,  when  she  was  drunk,"  said  Adam  James. 
He  gave  the  newspaper  another  jerk.  "  She  was  too 
bad  to  die ;  the  devil  did  n't  want  her.  Neither  did 
I.  When  she  came  near  a  camp  of  mine,  I  had 
her  driven  out.  And  one  night  she  lay  drunk  in 
the  road,  crying." 

"  Why,  when  she  came  here  —  "  began  the  old 
man,  but  stopped,  for  there  was  a  sound  at  the  door. 

A  traveler  bustled  in,  put  down  his  suitcase,  and 
for  a  moment  surveyed  the  office  before  he  went 
to  the  stove  and  held  out  his  hands.  The  old  man 
dipped  the  pen  and  swung  the  register  around  for  the 
stranger  to  come  and  sign  his  name.  It  was  an 
unprepossessing  creature  that  had  arrived,  large  and 
awkward,  very  tired,  very  disheveled,  and  with  oily 
black  hair.  He  soon  discovered  the  secret  of  the 
stove  and,  that  hope  abandoned,  went  and  regis- 
tered. Brian  de  Bassonville.  The  old  man  gazed 
at  it.  He  could  n't  read,  much  less  pronounce  it, 
and  he  mechanically  scrawled  an  S,  for  supper,  and 
the  number  of  a  room. 

"  Has  the  '  Camille  '  company  come  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
de  Bassonville.  His  voice  sounded  as  if  he  had  a 
dreadful  cold,  and  he  lisped  a  little,  too. 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  But  that 
Southern  should  have  been  here  three  hours  ago. 
They  '11  be  comin'  along  now  any  minute,  most  likely. 
Are  you  with  the  show?  " 

Brian's  lids  drooped  nonchalantly.     "  I  am  just 


KALEEMA  29 

joining.  I  am  the  new  leading  man."  He  lighted 
a  cigarette  while  this  took  root.  "  A  rotten  show, 
I  suppose,"  he  observed.  "  They  all  are." 

Nobody  bothered  to  encourage  him.  The  old  man 
went  back  into  the  barroom  and  de  Bassonville 
flopped  into  a  chair,  took  some  papers  from  his 
pocket  and  puffed  at  his  cigarette.  He  was  so  sleepy 
he  could  scarcely  hold  up  his  head. 

"  Very  cold,"  he  remarked  to  Mr.  James. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  is,"  James  replied. 

De  Bassonville  roused  himself  and  sat  upright, 
something  inquisitive  in  the  tilt  of  his  nose.  "  Do 
you  run  across  a  good  many  shows?  "  he  inquired. 

Adam  James  looked  at  him  an  instant  before  he 
answered,  "  I  did,  years  ago." 

"  Years  ago.  How  interesting,"  said  de  Basson- 
ville. "  In  those  days,  on  the  whole,  what  did  you 
think  of  them?" 

"  That  all  the  women  ought  to  have  been  hung." 
He  said  it  viciously,  and  then  he  went  into  the  bar- 
room. 

As  the  door  swung  closed  there  was  a  quick  step 
on  the  stairs,  and  a  young  man  came  down,  the 
one  who  had  been  waiting  since  the  day  before. 
When  he  saw  de  Bassonville  he  stopped  short. 

"  Has  the  show  come?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

De  Bassonville  turned  and  looked  at  him  —  a 
good-looking,  well-dressed  man,  young  but  self- 
reliant  in  speech  and  manner.  That  was  as  far  as 


30  KALEEMA 

de  Bassonville's  observation  was  capable  of  pene- 
trating. 

"  No,"  replied  de  Bassonville.  "  Are  you  join- 
ing? " 

"  No."  Irritable  impatience  flashed  into  his  face, 
and  he  shouted  for  the  landlord. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Barton,"  said  the  old  man,  hurry- 
ing in. 

"  I  say,  can't  you  put  some  kind  of  heat  in  this 
place?" 

"  Why,  do  you  feel  chilly,  Mr.  Barton?  " 

"  Chilly?  "  snapped  Barton.  "  No.  I  'm  so  cold 
I  'm  numb." 

The  old  man  peered  into  the  stove.  It  seemed 
almost  a  pity  so  ruthlessly  to  shatter  his  dreams. 
"  Usually,"  he  said,  "  this  heats  the  whole  house  very 
nicely.  Now,  if  you  could  sit  down  here  — 

"  Which  I  can  not,"  interrupted  Barton.  "  It  may 
seem  unbelievable  but  nevertheless  I  have  some 
work  to  do,  and  I  can't  write  letters  and  be  dis- 
turbed. I  '11  just  take  this  oil  stove  -  He  made 
a  quick  dive  for  it,  as  if  there  were  danger  of  some- 
body's getting  it  before  him. 

"  I  would  n't,  Mr.  Barton,"  said  the  old  man 
calmly.  "  I  would  n't  bother  with  that  stove. 
It 's  been  broken,  the  important  part  of  it,  for  a 
year." 

By  the  time  the  sentence  was  finished  Harold 
Barton  was  half  way  up  the  stairs;  then  he  turned 


KALEEMA  31 

and  called  down,  this  time  his  voice  coming  in  a 
polite,  apologetic  wail. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  that  Southern  —  " 

The  old  man  knew  what  was  coming  and  cut  him 
short.  "  No.  She  's  more  than  three  hours  —  " 

But  he  did  not  finish  either,  for  he  saw  the  pest 
disappear  three  steps  at  a  time. 

"  He  's  been  running  down  here  every  ten  minutes 
for  the  last  three  hours,"  said  the  old  man,  appealing 
to  the  stranger  for  a  sympathetic  ear.  "  I  don't 
care  at  all  how  soon  he  packs  his  grip  and  leaves, 
not  at  all.  He  's  been  more  nuisance  in  the  last 
twenty-four  hours  .  .  .  and  he  did  n't  eat  his 
breakfast,  not  at  all.  The  breakfast  was  all  right, 
too  —  good  coffee,  good  ham,  good  buckwheat  cakes. 
I  don't  care  how  soon  he  goes !  Not  at  all." 

"  Well,  you  see,  he  's  not  a  real  actor.  We  actors 
get  used  to  knocking  around,"  lisped  de  Bassonville 
with  a  haughty,  off-hand  pride. 

Upstairs,  behind  a  closed  door,  Harold  Barton 
stood  in  the  middle  of  his  bare,  cold  room,  motion- 
less but  for  his  heavy  breathing  and  the  twitching 
of  his  lips  and  eyes.  If  the  boy  could  pray,  he  was 
praying  then  for  God  or  chance  to  show  him  what 
to  do. 

Yes,  the  train  was  more  than  three  hours  late ;  and 
with  his  brain  and  body  strung  to  a  torturing  ten- 
sion he  was  trying  to  divine  what  that  delay  meant 
for  him.  Perhaps  fate  was  pointing.  He  had  had 


32  KALEEMA 

time  to  think  during  that  long  night  and  longer  day. 
But  the  thinking  had  got  him  nowhere.  He  was 
adrift  and  helpless,  at  the  mercy  of  the  half -con- 
quered pride  and  sensitiveness  that  clung  to  him, 
caught  in  a  merciless  battle  between  family  blood 
and  tradition  and  the  man's  assertiveness  that  his 
life  is  his  own  to  be  lived  in  his  own  way. 

On  the  table  lay  a  letter  that  he  had  written.  It 
was  sealed,  and  addressed  to  Kaleema  West.  In  it 
he  had  told  her  —  brutally,  because  it  could  n't 
be  told  in  any  other  way  —  that  he  had  come  to  see 
her,  but  had  gone  before  she  came  and  would  never 
see  her  or  write  to  her  again.  For  a  moment  as 
he  stood  there  his  gaze  rested  on  it,  and  then  he 
bit  his  lips  and  turned  his  back  on  it  as  if  it  were 
the  pistol  with  which  he  had  thought  he  meant  to 
take  his  own  life.  Above  everything,  he  was  think- 
ing of  his  mother.  He  respected  and  loved  her. 
Kaleema  West  was  something  that  she  could  never 
understand.  This  was  the  third  time  in  his  life  that, 
for  more  than  a  few  hours  at  a  time,  his  mother  had 
not  reasonable  knowledge  of  where  he  was.  Those 
three  times  he  had  gone  to  some  distant  place  to 
see  Kaleema  West. 

Twice  since  they  had  known  each  other  the  girl 
had  taken  his  head  in  her  strong  little  hands  and 
kissed  his  lips,  and  then  caught  her  breath  and 
pushed  him  away.  He  was  trying  not  to  remember 
that. 


KALEEMA  33 

Suddenly  he  picked  up  his  things  that  lay  scat- 
tered about  the  room  and  threw  them  into  his 
bag  and  closed  it  with  a  sharp  snap.  He  would 

go- 
But  he  was  no  nearer  to  going.     He  sat  down 

by  the  table  and  stared  at  the  unrelenting  room. 
He  could  not  marry  her.  That  was  too  dear  a  cost 
of  infatuation. 

The  habit  of  his  whole  life  took  his  thoughts  back 
home.  When  he  was  through  college  his  father 
had  got  him  into  a  broker's  office  and  he  was  work- 
ing there  desperately  hard.  He  had  always  worked. 
He  had  had  to  grind  to  get  through  college.  He 
wanted  money.  He  did  not  exactly  envy  his  brother 
his  wealth,  but  there  was  such  a  big  difference  in  their 
lives.  He  did  not  let  even  his  mother  know  it,  but 
often  he  was  desperately  discouraged  and  blue.  In 
a  way,  he  felt  entirely  cut  off  from  his  family  and 
their  friends;  for  in  their  lives  there  was  wealth 
and  luxury  everywhere  and  the  enjoyments  that  only 
money  can  bring.  Into  his  loneliness  bitterness  had 
begun  to  come.  He  must  have  companionship  of 
some  kind,  and  amusement  that  had  fellowship 
mixed  in,  and  it  was  while  indulging  in  that  of  his 
own  financial  limits  that  he  gravitated  toward  Bo- 
hemia and  saw  the  girl  with  the  dark  gray  eyes  and 
the  fine  dark  brows. 

Suddenly  he  picked  up  the  letter  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket.  Lying  there,  he  felt  that  the  girl  could 


34  KALEEMA 

read  it  before  she  came.     He  did  not  want  her  to 
do  that  before  he  made  up  his  mind. 

Then  he  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  memories,  but 
that  only  shut  them  in.  He  wondered  how  long  it 
had  been  since  he  came  back  upstairs.  He  stood  up 
and  looked  again  for  his  decision.  All  that  he  could 
see  to  do  was  something  he  was  ashamed  of. 

Downstairs  the  landlord  still  stood  stupid  behind 
the  desk,  and  de  Bassonville  was  talking  on  and  on. 

"  Now,  for  instance,  these  people  needed  a  leading 
man  so  desperately  that  I  was  persuaded  to  come. 
Been  dickering  with  Frohman  and  Brady  all  season, 
but  as  yet  they  have  n't  come  to  my  terms.  Been 
getting  a  divorce,  too.  Expensive  things,  these 
divorces." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man  suddenly,  when  it  dawned 
on  him  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  speak. 

"  Bad  season,  anyway,"  de  Bassonville  went  on. 
"  All  bad  seasons  ever  since  I  've  been  in  the  busi- 
ness. I  know  pos-i-tively  that  Mansfield  was  just 
ready  to  fail  completely  when  he  died.  .  .  .  Now 
this  piece  is  n't  my  line.  My  line  is  melodrama  - 
heavies  in  melodrama,  where  you  can  get  hold  of  it 
and  make  a  scene  of  it." 

He  flipped  the  papers  that  he  held  and  lighted 
another  cigarette. 

"  Now  this  light  stuff  makes  tricky  study.  I  Ve 
been  at  it  for  two  nights  but  I  don't  know  any  more 
than  when  I  began.  But  I  '11  be  all  right  to-night. 


KALEEMA  35 

O-oh  yes!  It's  the  inspiration  of  the  crowd  and 
the  applause  that  the  actor  needs.  And  Armand 
is  a  great  part,  oh-h  yes,  a  great  part." 

But  it  was  all  lost,  for  the  landlord  had  pricked 
up  his  ears  in  quite  another  direction,  shamelessly 
indifferent  to  continuing  his  education.  There  was 
the  sound  of  voices  outside,  and  one  of  the  hurrying 
figures  was  already  at  the  door ;  it  was  pushed  open, 
and  Kaleema  rushed  in. 

She  had  been  running,  and  she  was  laughing  up- 
roariously. De  Bassonville  stuffed  his  part  into  his 
pocket,  seized  a  newspaper  and  began  reading  as  if 
his  life  depended  on  it,  but  he  surreptitiously  watched 
her  from  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"  Gee !  what  a  small  stage !  Where  's  the  mail  ? 
...  I  choose  the  stove.  I  choose  the  stove !  "  She 
dropped  her  suitcase  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
dashed  over  to  the  oil  stove,  pulled  it  to  a  chair,  sat 
down  and  began  hugging  it.  "I  knew  there  would 
be  one  in  this  town !  " 

The  landlord  and  de  Bassonville  eyed  her  in  dis- 
may as  she  sat  there  shaking  with  laughter.  Then 
the  Skamons  hurried  in  —  he  tall,  she  short;  both 
bundled  to  their  eyes  in  scraggly,  moth-eaten  furs, 
and  both  dejected.  Sarah,  carrying  a  huge  bundle 
and  very  indignant,  went  straight  to  Kaleema. 

"  I  suppose  7  shall  have  to  freeze,"  she  said. 

Kaleema  turned  kindly  to  her.  "  Well,  why  in 
hell  did  n't  you  run  faster  ?  " 


36  KALEEMA 

Sarah  bounced  away.  The  old  landlord's  heart 
missed  three  beats. 

By  that  time  they  had  all  come  in,  Carney  dignified 
and  anxious,  the  rest  of  them  only  dejected.  Even 
the  suitcases  looked  blue  as  they  sat  on  the  floor 
and  waited.  Somebody  registered  for  the  crowd. 

Sarah  Skamon  hunched  up  her  bundle.  "  I  never 
saw  such  a  place  as  this  is,"  she  observed. 

Kaleema  began  singing. 

"  All  wildcat  towns  look  alike  to  me, 

I  play  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  a  year,  you  see — " 

"  Sir,  I  must  have  a  warm  room,"  Sarah  an- 
nounced to  the  landlord. 

"  And  I  want  a  nice  little  cold  one  on  the  roof  — 
roses  on  the  mantel  and  pictures  on  the  wall,"  said 
Kaleema. 

Carney's  nerves  could  not  stand  it  a  minute  longer, 
and  he  disappeared  into  the  barroom.  Of  course  it 
was  none  of  his  business,  but  between  Sarah  Skamon 
and  that  'Leema  he  was  ready  for  a  nervous  break- 
down. 

The  hotel-keeper  was  trying  to  be  good-natured 
and  calm.  "  Certainly,  certainly,"  he  said,  "  a  nice 
room  for  everybody.  Who  's  the  leading  lady  ?  " 

"I'm  her,"  yelled  Kaleema.  "Gets  all  the 
scoldin's  and  does  all  the  work." 

By  that  time  Charley  Forbes  was  at  her  elbow. 
"  Shut  up !  "  he  said.  He  had  seen  de  Bassonville, 


KALEEMA  37 

and  here  was  a  fine  beginning  to  make  a  good  im- 
pression on  the  new  man. 

Kaleema  seemed  not  to  hear  him. 

"  Here,  Trilby ! "  she  called,  and  whistled,  and 
Sarah's  big  bundle  began  to  jump.  Godiva  Traxler 
was  trying  not  to  laugh. 

Sarah  was  furious.  "  Don't  call  the  dog !  Is  n't 
the  stove  enough  for  you  ?  " 

Kaleema  snapped  back.  "  Can't  I  call  my  own 
dog  —  even  if  it  is  dead?  Here,  doggie,  doggie, 
doggie!" 

The  perspiration  started  on  Charley's  pasty  brow. 
Sarah's  bundle  began  to  bound,  and  finally  she 
opened  it  and  pushed  out  the  big,  fat  dog  that  had 
to  stay  in  the  bag  on  the  trains. 

"What  ails  you  to-day,  'Leema?"  she  said 
crossly.  "  You  '11  be  crying  before  the  day  's  over 
—  see  if  you  don't."  She  held  up  a  grimy  finger 
to  warn  her. 

By  this  time  de  Bassonville  had  introduced  him- 
self to  Harry  Skamon.  Charley  was  angry  and  dis- 
gusted. He  went  back  to  Kaleema.  "  Shut  up !  " 
he  hissed. 

"  Mind  your  own  business,"  snapped  Miss  Trax- 
ler, on  her  behalf,  and  Kaleema  began  investigating 
her  oil  stove.  Nothing  inside  but  the  broken  can. 
She  looked  at  Traxler  and  then  at  Charley.  Then 
she  called  out  to  the  landlord. 

"  Say !  she  's  busted !     Say !  she  has  n't  any  in- 


38  KALEEMA 

sides ! "  Nobody  heard  her  but  Traxler  and 
Charley.  Sarah  was  talking  to  the  new  man. 
Kaleema  carefully  closed  the  stove  and  carried  it 
over  to  her.  "  Here,  honey,"  she  said,  "  I  was  just 
teasin'  you."  She  patted  Sarah's  fat  back.  "  I 
never  did  mean  to  keep  the  stove." 

All  of  a  sudden  Sarah  was  very  forgiving.  "  No, 
I  won't  take  it,"  she  said,  meaning  that  she  was  wait- 
ing to  be  urged. 

"  Yes,  you  will,  honey,"  said  Kaleema.  "  The 
manager's  wife  always  has  the  stove." 

Sarah  took  it  reluctantly.  "  Then  you  come  up 
to  my  room  and  get  good  and  warm.  Come,  baby ! 
come  with  mother.  Come,  baby!  come  with 
mother."  This  was  for  Trilby. 

The  landlord  went  ahead,  and  Sarah,  carrying 
the  stove,  the  dog  waddling  after  her,  struggled  up 
the  stairs.  They  passed  right  by  the  closed  door 
behind  which  Harold  Barton  was  standing. 

Already  there  was  a  lump  of  worry  in  Harry 
Skamon's  throat.  The  moment  had  arrived  when 
the  company  must  formally  meet  the  new  man.  Of 
course  it  was  none  of  their  business  to  make  any 
comments,  but  that  would  not  keep  them  from  doing 
it.  While  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  screw- 
ing up  his  courage,  he  saw  Charley  Forbes  go  over 
to  the  three  women  and  heard  what  he  said  to  them. 

"  Well,  Miss  West,  guess  you  've  queered  the  new 
man,  all  right." 


KALEEMA  39 

They  turned  suddenly  and  stared  at  de  Basson- 
ville,  in  their  faces  horror  and  despair.  Skamon, 
the  agony  of  decision  taken  from  him,  hurried  over 
to  them. 

"  Now,  Kaleema,  don't  swear !  "  he  implored  ex- 
citedly. He  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying. 

"  He  was  queered  some  time  ago,"  was  all  she 
said.  She  did  n't  even  want  to  swear. 

Skamon  wiped  his  brow.  "  Yes.  Now  don't 
swear  so  he  '11  hear  it." 

Kaleema  turned  to  Godiva  Traxler.  "  Now,  what 
do  you  know  about  that  ?  He  '11  close  the  show. 
Take  a  peep  at  him.  He  's  the  most  awful  lookin' 
thing  I  ever  saw." 

Skamon  spoke  to  de  Bassonville,  trying  to  be  very 
amiable. 

"  You  go  on  to-night,  of  course?  " 

"  O-oh  yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  '11  be  all  right  to- 
night." He  caressingly  tapped  the  thumb- worn  part 
that  was  poking  its  head  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  Bet  he  does  n't  know  two  lines,"  Skamon  heard 
Kaleema  say  to  some  one. 

With  that  he  turned  to  them,  very  pompous,  to 
show  his  authority. 

"  Mrs.  Giniven,  Miss  West,  Miss  Traxler,  this  is 
Mr.  de  Bassonville." 

Florence  Giniven  and  Godiva  Traxler  nodded  and 
stared  at  him,  Kaleema  got  up  and  gave  him  her 
firm,  grimy  little  hand.  This  time  a  lump  of  sur- 


40  KALEEMA 

prise  was  in  Skamon's  throat.  People  always  forgot 
the  mercy  that  was  in  her. 

"  I  know  you  have  had  a  long,  hard  jump  to  reach 
us,"  she  said,  and  for  the  first  time  in  two  days 
the  oily  creature  felt  that  life  was  still  in  him.  He 
did  not  know  that  she  was  furious  at  him  for  being 
so  homely  and  uncouth  and  greasy.  He  could  have 
gone  down  on  his  knees  in  gratitude. 

Thus  encouraged,  he  became  talkative.  "  Oh, 
we  '11  soon  have  things  in  great  shape,"  he  lisped. 
With  a  nod  of  her  head  Kaleema  emphatically 
agreed  with  him.  "  Have  n't  been  working  for  some 
time.  Been  getting  a  divorce.  Expensive  things, 
these  divorces.  But  I  'm  going  to  break  the  record. 
Beat  Lillian  Russell.  Been  dickering  with  Frohman 
and  Brady,  too,  but  they  have  n't  yet  come  to  my 
terms." 

Skamon  dared  not  look  at  Kaleema,  and  he  was 
so  nervous  by  this  time  that  he  disappeared  into  the 
barroom.  Carney  was  there,  not  drinking  anything, 
looking  like  a  sphinx. 

"  He 's  hung  himself  in  three  words,  George," 
Skamon  said,  "  and  in  five  minutes  there  won't  be  a 
thread  of  him  left.  We  may  as  well  get  drunk. 
I  don't  see  that  there  is  anything  else  to  do." 

"  Now  this  is  n't  exactly  my  line,"  continued  the 
excited  leading  man,  "  but  it 's  all  experience.  My 
line  is  melodrama  —  heavies  in  melodrama  —  where 
you  can  get  hold  of  something  and  make  a  scene  out 


KALEEMA  41 

of  it."  He  clenched  his  big  fists  and  shook  them 
in  the  air.  "  Now  this  stuff  makes  tricky  study. 
But  I  '11  be  all  right  to-night.  Oh-h  yes !  It 's  the 
inspiration  of  the  crowd  and  the  applause  —  " 

"  Crowd  ? "  Kaleema  repeated,  and  she  sadly 
shook  her  head.  "  We  have  n't  been  having  any 
crowds.  You  '11  have  to  work  up  without  the  crowd. 
We  have  even  been  sendin'  the  stage  hands  out  front 
and  askin'  'em  to  look  pleasant  —  until  it  was  time 
to  cry.  But  we  could  n't  ask  'em  to  give  us  a 
hand." 

The  melodramatic  expression  darkened  in  his  face. 
He  put  his  arms  akimbo  and  glanced  cautiously 
after  Skamon,  and  lowered  his  voice. 

"Bad  business?" 

"  Rotten,"  Kaleema  said  through  her  teeth. 

"  Dear  me !  Never  mind,  little  one,  we  '11  pull 
through." 

He  patted  her  shoulder,  seized  his  part,  and 
vanished  by  way  of  the  stairs. 

For  a  moment  they  gazed  at  one  another,  speech- 
less, then  "  My  Gawd!  "  It  seemed  to  come  from 
everybody. 

"  Now  don't  anybody  say  that  the  worst  is  always 
yet  to  come,"  said  Kaleema,  her  eyes  flashing. 

"  Don't  worry,"  said  Taney.  "  He  won't  stay 
long.  Frohman  and  Brady  won't  let  him." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  the  look  of  things,"  said  Miss 
Traxler,  staring  at  Taney  as  if  he  were  to  blame. 


42  KALEEMA 

"Who  does?"  inquired  Mrs.  Giniven;  then  she 
said,  with  an  oath,  "  Marry  him,  one  of  you  girls, 
and  help  him  beat  Lillian  Russell." 

"  Better  do  it  yourself,"  retorted  Godiva. 
"  Neither  of  us  has  married  a  freak  yet." 

Nobody  missed  her  meaning. 

Mrs.  Giniven  flared  up.  "  Oh,  callin'  Jimmy 
Giniven  a  freak,  are  you?  " 

"  Shut  up,"  commanded  Jimmy,  glaring  at  his 
loyal  spouse.  "  Better  mind  your  own  business, 
see  ?  "  A  terrible  thrust  at  Traxler  was  on  the  tip 
of  Mrs.  Giniven's  tongue,  but  Jimmy  wisely  did  not 
give  her  time.  "  Here  we  are  in  the  wilderness,"  he 
continued,  "  no  money  for  weeks,  none  in  sight,  this 
crazy  fool  for  a  leading  man  —  " 

"  The  man  that  sent  him  ought  to  be  given  a  pass 
to  the  show  and  made  to  come  to  it,"  interrupted 
Kaleema. 

"  Skamon  going  crazy  —  "  said  Charley. 

"  The  rest  of  'em  crazy  before  they  left  home," 
said  Miss  Traxler. 

"  All  of  us  playing  parts  we  can't  play,"  said  Mrs. 
Giniven,  and  she  added  further  remarks  as  she  turned 
away. 

"  Me  playin'  Camille!  "  said  Kaleema.  "  Ain't  it 
awful!  —  and  not  gettin'  paid  for  so  much  as  the 
eyelashes.  Would  n't  it  trip  a  snake !  " 

"  Well,  7  am  going  to  ask  Mr.  Carney  for  some 
money,"  announced  Jimmy. 


KALEEMA  43 

"  Let  the  rest  of  us  look  at  it  when  you  get  it," 
said  Taney,  but  instead  of  answering  Jimmy  picked 
up  the  Giniven  suitcases  and  went  upstairs,  followed 
by  Mrs.  Giniven  with  the  folded  go-cart  and  the 
Giniven  child. 

"  I  'm  going  to  demand  some  money,  too,  Sam 
Taney,"  said  Godiva  Traxler.  They  were  supposed 
to  be  chums,  or  sweethearts,  or  something.  "  Lots 
I  've  had  out  of  this  show!  And  pretty  soon  I  'm 
going  home.  You  take  it  very  calmly,  don't  you? 
Don't  even  bat  an  eye.  It 's  real  funny,  is  n't  it  ? 
And  I  suppose  you  '11  be  lettin'  me  beat  it  back 
alone,  Sam  Taney.  You  bet  I  '11  size  up  the  next 
bunch  better  than  I  did  this  one  before  I  hit  the  road 
again." 

"  Oh,  stop  talking.  You  did  n't  leave  much,"  said 
Taney. 

"Oh,  didn't  I?  You  know  all  about  it,  don't 
you  ?  "  retorted  Miss  Traxler,  and  she,  too,  took  her 
suitcase  and  disappeared  up  the  stairs. 

Dreamily  Kaleema  put  her  finger  down  the  neck 
of  her  dress  and  began  to  pull  out  a  string,  and  the 
next  moment  came  a  sad-looking  little  bag.  She 
opened  it  and  began  to  count  her  money.  Charley's 
face  was  merely  blank  and  pasty,  for  he  did  not 
understand,  but  there  was  a  smile  in  Taney's  dark 
eyes  as  he  gazed  down  at  her. 

"  Going  to  jump,  'Leema  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  You  're  right,  Sam,"  she  answered.     "  If  that 


44  KALEEMA 

bum  legit  upstairs  lives  through  the  rehearsal,  I  '11 
give  Skamon  a  week;  if  he  does  n't,  I  go.  I  never 
did  want  to  see  that  north  pole,  anyway." 

She  counted  the  money.     It  did  n't  take  long. 

"  I  can  let  you  have  five,"  said  Taney. 

"  I  don't  want  it,  Sam.  I  'd  rather  stick  in  Kala- 
mazoo." 

"  You  '11  stick  there  all  right,"  he  answered. 

Her  shoulders  went  up  under  the  hoop  earrings. 
It  certainly  did  look  like  Kalamazoo. 

"  I  wish  I  had  taken  Carney's  silver  dollars  last 
night,"  she  observed  meditatively.  She  stuffed  the 
money  back  into  the  sad-looking  bag,  then  it  de- 
scended down  her  neck,  quite  solemnly. 

The  two  men  went  into  the  barroom. 

For  a  few  moments  the  girl  sat  alone,  her  thoughts 
very  far  away ;  then  she  heard  voices  and  knew  that 
Sarah  Skamon  and  Miss  Traxler  were  coming  down- 
stairs. They  both  had  pitchers  to  get  warm  water, 
and  Sarah  began  dipping  it  out  from  the  pail  on  the 
stove. 

"  'Leema,  that  oil  stove  is  broken,  so  you  did  n't 
miss  anything,"  she  said.  Kaleema  scarcely  heard 
her. 

Godiva  had  gone  over  to  look  at  the  register. 
Idly  inspecting  it,  she  read,  "  Harold  Barton,  New 
York  City."  She  checked  an  exclamation  and  sailed 
over  to  Kaleema. 


KALEEMA  45 

"  Did  I  tell  you  that  Harold  Barton  is  here  to- 
day?" 

Kaleema  turned  and  looked  at  her.  For  an  instant 
her  lips  were  dry  and  she  could  not  speak.  Then, 
"  Harold  —  here  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes.  He  may  be  here  now  for  all  I  know," 
Miss  Traxler  answered,  and  began  to  fill  her  pitcher. 

Kaleema's  face  went  white.  For  a  moment  she 
looked  at  her,  stunned,  then  she  turned  on  Godiva  in 
a  flash  of  jealous  rage. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  Go  and  look  at  the  register,  silly,"  drawled  Miss 
Traxler.  "  I  just  this  minute  saw  it." 

Kaleema  went  and  looked  at  the  open  page.  The 
name  was  there,  written  the  previous  day.  For  an 
instant  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Forgive  me,  Godiva.     I  was  a  fool." 

"  Sure,"  said  Godiva. 

"  You  're  a  fool,  all  right,  'Leema,  and  in  love, 
too,"  said  Sarah  Skamon  as  Miss  Traxler  went  back 
up  the  stairs. 

"  No,  I  'm  not,"  said  Kaleema.  "  It  was  just  my 
temper,  and  because  —  I  was  surprised."  She  bit 
her  white  lips  and  pressed  her  grimy  little  hands 
over  her  heart,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  Sarah  could 
hear  it  beating.  Then  she  added  nervously,  her 
voice  lower,  "  I  wish  that  he  would  stay  away." 
In  a  sort  of  panic  she  was  foreseeing  what  would 


46  KALEEMA 

come.     And  just  at  a  time  when  she  was  down  on 
her  luck,  and  lonesome  —  so  lonesome. 

'  'Leema,    why    don't    you    marry    that    man  ? " 
Sarah  came  nearer  and  spoke  very  seriously. 

Kaleema  laughed  harshly.  "  Why,  it 's  nothing 
but  a  flirtation."  Her  white  lips  twisted  in  a  little 
sneer. 

"  Flirtation ! "  retorted  Sarah.  "  See  here, 
'Leema,  this  is  the  third  time  that  he  has  been  to 
see  you  this  season." 

"Well?  "  said  the  girl,  as  Sarah  paused. 

"  And  a  man  does  n't  follow  a  show  for  a  flirta- 
tion." 

"  I  wish  he  would  let  me  alone  and  stay  away," 
said  Kaleema. 

Sarah  earnestly  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
"  Don't  be  a  fool,  'Leema.  And  don't  be  such  a 
wild,  secretive  little  thing.  He  is  a  gentleman,  and 
he  has  a  little  more  than  his  wits.  And  you  have 
worked  so  hard  and  been  so  good  that  you  deserve 
some  happiness  on  earth.  Even  if  he  has  n't  any 
money  I  wish  that  you  would  marry  him,  dear,  and 
get  out  of  this  hard  work  and  have  a  home." 

Kaleema  closed  her  eyes  and  laid  her  hand  on 
Sarah's.  "  Oh,  Sarah,  don't  bring  it  down  to  mate- 
rial things !  " 

The  quick  tears  welled  up  in  Sarah  Skamon's  eyes. 
That  sounded  so  young,  so  full  of  youth's  idolatry! 
For  a  moment  she  held  Kaleema  close,  praying  an 


KALEEMA  47 

unformed  prayer  that  the  idols  might  not  be  broken. 

"Kaleema!" 

It  was  a  man's  voice  from  the  stairs. 

"  Why,   Mr.   Barton !  "  exclaimed  Sarah. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Skamon !  "  He  ran  down 
and  seized  both  her  hands. 

"  We  were  just  talking  about  you,"  said  Sarah. 
"  Saw  your  name  on  the  register.  You  must  be 
crazy  to  follow  a  show  this  terrible  weather.  Pity 
you  can't  act,  you  're  so  fond  of  starvin'  and 
freezin'."  She  started  off  upstairs. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  depends  on  who  is  at  the  other 
end  of  the  road,  Mrs.  Skamon,"  he  answered,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Yes,  that  makes  a  difference,"  said  Sarah,  and 
disappeared. 


CHAPTER  IV 

KALEEMA." 
"Harold!" 

They  were  alone  in  the  office  and  he  kissed  her. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  surprised  I  was  when 
Godiva  discovered  your  name  on  the  register,"  said 
Kaleema. 

To  Harold's  mind  she  was  tiresomely  calm.  He 
did  not  know  precisely  what  he  had  supposed  she 
would  say,  but,  at  any  rate,  his  vague  expectancy 
was  not  fulfilled ;  far  from  it,  considering  the  expen- 
sive journey  and  the  wretched  night  in  the  cold  hotel 
where  the  bedclothes  were  so  short  that  his  feet 
stuck  out  when  his  shoulders  were  covered  and  his 
shoulders  stuck  out  when  his  feet  were  covered. 
So  he  had  come  from  the  Atlantic  Ocean  to  North 
Dakota  to  meet  this  perfect  composure?  He  had 
just  got  that  thought  clearly  defined  in  his  mind 
when  she  perched  on  the  arm  of  a  chair  and  began 
laughing  and  talking  with  childish  joy,  so  happy  that 
she  did  n't  even  look  battered  and  tired  as  she  had  a 
moment  ago.  There  was  something  undefinable 
about  her  that  was  very  beautiful  in  Harold  Barton's 
eyes.  That  was  what  was  combating  family  tradi- 
tion. 

48 


KALEEMA  49 

"  When  did  you  come?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yesterday." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  write  to  me  that  you  were 


coming?  " 

"  I  did  n't  want  to." 

"  But  you  nearly  missed  me." 

"  Missed  you  ?  " 

"  Hush!     Yes,  I  am  leaving." 

"When?" 

"  Possibly  to-day." 

"Why?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  Don't  you  know  where 
you  are  going?  " 

"  I  believe  the  show  will  close  here.  They  owe 
everybody  money  and  a  dreadful  man  has  just  come 
on.  ...  What  brought  you  ?  .  .  .  Business  ?  " 
She  knew  perfectly  well  it  was  n't  business. 

"  No,"  said  Harold.  He  thrust  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  walked  away.  The  girl  suppressed  a 
smile  as  she  watched  his  retreating  back.  He  was 
most  natural  when  he  was  irritable ;  she  felt  motherly 
toward  him  then.  But  suddenly  she  closed  her  eyes, 
as  if  the  sight  of  him  hurt  her.  It  did;  even  the 
thought  of  the  handsome  head  over  there  made  her 
heart  ache  with  longing. 

"  Why  have  n't  you  answered  my  letters  ?  Where 
in  thunder  did  you  get  those  earrings  ?  " 

There  was  a  half -conscious  air  of  ownership  about 


50  KALEEMA 

him  as  he  came  back  to  her.  Then  suddenly  he 
seized  and  kissed  her  until  she  lost  her  breath.  How 
he  loved  her! 

"  Letters  ?  "  she  repeated,  laughing  when  she  could. 
"If  you  could  have  followed  this  show  you  would 
know  why  I  have  n't  written  any  letters.  For  the 
same  reason  that  I  have  n't  slept  for  two  weeks  — 
except  on  the  top  of  my  trunk,  between  acts.  Such 
jumps,  such  business,  such  luck,  such  wildcat  towns, 
such  leading  men!  We  have  had  three  in  three 
weeks.  If  they  're  any  good  they  don't  stay.  And 
business !  " 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  mechanically, 
not  as  if  he  cared  a  great  deal. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  " —  And  people 
don't  know  how  bad  the  show  is  until  they  have 
seen  it.  It 's  just  instinct  that  keeps  'em  away. 
Why,  I  'm  so  tired  I  'm  nearly  ready  to  be  saved." 

"  Kaleema,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  seriously  to- 
day." He  spoke  earnestly;  he  had  been  only  half- 
listening  to  what  she  said.  He  did  not  care  at  all 
for  her  chatter.  The  show  did  not  interest  him ;  he 
was  tired  of  it. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  blood  left  her  heart  and 
that  she  was  cold  enough  to  shiver,  but  she  went  on 
quickly.  "  The  advance  man  might  as  well  go  home, 
t  think  myself  he  is  eatin'  the  paper  and  the  glue. 
He  looks  as  cadaverous  as  the  show  is.  He 's 
enough  to  queer  a  circus  —  or  '  East  Lynne.' ' 


KALEEMA  51 

"Kaleema!"  She  had  acted  this  way  many 
times  before  when  she  did  not  want  to  listen. 
Harold  put  his  hand  over  her  mouth  and  pressed 
her  head  against  his  shoulder.  "  Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 
he  said.  "  I  want  to  talk  seriously  to  you  to-day. 
Have  I  come  to  this  God- forsaken  place  to  be  treated 
like  a  fool?" 

She  shook  herself  loose  and  pushed  him  away. 

"  You  did  n't  come  to  this  God- forsaken  place 
because  I  asked  you  to,"  she  said. 

Again  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
walked  over  and  stood  by  the  frost-covered  window, 
seeing  nothing  beyond.  The  girl  went  on,  speaking 
nervously,  her  fingers  working  though  she  tried  to 
keep  them  still. 

"  You  know  you  have  talked  seriously  before,  and 
it  always  results  in  nothing  but  —  heartache." 

Her  lips  twitched  as  she  said  it,  reluctantly.  That 
was  the  way  he  always  did.  He  said  very  little  — 
just  the  same  words  and  phrases,  repeated  over  and 
over,  and  always  when  he  left  her  her  head  was 
aching,  as  if  she  were  very  tired,  and  a  sickening 
regret  was  eating  at  her  heart. 

By  this  time  she  was  struggling  to  keep  back 
words,  and  there  was  mingled  anger  and  helplessness 
in  her  eyes.  It  was  so  hard  to  face  it.  She  knew 
what  he  meant  and  wanted,  though  his  boyishness 
shamefacedly  kept  the  awkward  words  from  being 
uttered.  In  his  mind  he  blamed  her  for  not  under- 


52  KALEEMA 

standing.  Yet  she  did  understand  him.  She  was 
younger  than  he  in  years,  but  she  had  lived  differ- 
ently. 

She  loved  him  with  the  whole  strength  of  what 
had  been  awakened  in  her.  More  than  that,  to  her 
he  typified  the  best  and  cleanest  that  God  had  put 
on  earth.  His  handsome  head,  his  intelligence  and 
pride  and  sensitiveness  —  the  whole  clear-cut  man 
was  so  different  from  those  who  peopled  the  life  she 
knew  that  it  made  him  seem  honest  and  clean  all 
through.  In  him  she  touched  all  the  good  that  was 
striving  for  expression  in  her  own  soul.  Ever  since 
she  was  a  child  she  had  been  reaching  out  from  the 
darkness  in  which  she  lived  and  grew  —  and  only 
God  and  she  knew  the  depth  and  the  humiliation  of 
that  darkness  —  for  this  response.  It  was  since  she 
had  known  him  that  she  wanted  to  forget  everything 
and  begin  life  anew. 

When  she  spoke  again  it  was  more  slowly. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  have  my  work 
to  do  to  earn  my  living,  but  you  want  me  to  settle 
down  and  stay  in  one  place  so  that  I  shall  be  near 
you  and  whenever  you  please  you  —  can  come." 

An  old  man  passed  through  the  office  and  Kaleema 
went  over  to  a  writing-table  in  a  far  corner  and 
sat  down,  her  elbows  on  the  table,  her  lips  pressed 
against  her  hands. 

That  was  what  had  made  the  fall  and  early  winter 
so  hard  to  live  through  —  this  half- formed  plan 


KALEEMA  53 

that  Harold  had  made.  That  was  what  had  driven 
her  restlessly  through  each  day,  dreading  the  letters 
that  she  longed  for  —  dreading  more  his  presence. 

Carney  had  divined  very  nearly  the  whole  truth. 
The  company  had  spent  a  glorious  autumn  in  the 
northern  towns  and  forests,  and  day  after  day  she 
and  Carney  would  set  out,  after  his  first  work  was 
done,  for  long  walks  in  the  woods  and  along  the 
streams,  watching  the  great  chained  logs  float  by 
and  the  lumberjacks  working  away  over  the  helpless 
monsters.  They  would  ramble  on  until  she  was 
tired  enough  to  rest,  then  they  would  stop  a  while, 
the  man  often  lying  on  the  ground,  not  talking  very 
much,  but  thinking  about  her  and  watching  her. 
And  she  with  the  ache  in  her  heart  for  Harold.  He 
was  sorry  for  her,  the  poor  little  thing,  but  he  would 
not  admit  that  he  loved  her;  he  told  himself  he  had 
never  yet  loved  a  woman  who  belonged  in  any  way 
to  another  man.  That  was  Carney's  cleanness,  that 
was  his  ideal.  Kaleema  understood  him,  too,  as 
she  did  Harold.  She  was  thinking  of  him  now. 

When  the  old  man  had  gone  Harold  followed  her 
and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  his  back  to  the  room. 

"  I  was  sick  last  week,  too,"  she  said.  "  I  never 
felt  so  dreadful  in  all  my  life." 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her. 

"  It  started  with  my  throat,  and  I  felt  burning  up ; 
my  head  was  pounding  and  my  throat  was  choking. 
And  I  was  working  just  the  same.  I  don't  know 


54  KALEEMA 

what  would  have  become  of  me  without  George 
Carney.  For  three  nights  he  never  closed  his  eyes." 

Suddenly  the  boy  looked  at  her,  his  lips  parted. 

"  He  said  he  slept  some,  but  I  know  he  did  n't. 
That 's  just  like  him.  He  would  say  anything  to 
keep  me  from  worrying.  He  kept  ice  on  my  throat 
and  gave  me  the  medicine  and  drinks  of  water  and 
talked  to  me  when  I  woke  up." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Harold.  He  was  staring  at 
her. 

"  In  North  Dakota.  Where  did  you  suppose  ?  " 
She  glanced  up  and  saw  the  strange  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  In  your  room?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  All  night  ?     Was  the  door  closed  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  could  not  speak.  Something 
clutched  her  that  was  like  fright.  She  leaned  back 
and  looked  at  him. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "tight.  All  night.  Except 
when  he  went  in  and  out.  The  hall  was  very  cold." 
Then  she  leaned  toward  him.  The  fright  was  gone. 
"  See  here,  Harold,  if  you  can't  believe  in  God  be- 
cause you  can't  see  him,  and  you  can't  trust  anything 
human,  then  you  'd  better  get  down  on  your  knees 
sometimes  and  worship  the  sun." 

She  rose  and  walked  across  the  room.  He  sat 
still,  looking  at  the  floor.  Presently  she  came  back 
and  stood  before  him. 

"  George  Carney  is  the  most  splendid  man  I  ever 


KALEEMA  55 

knew.  Try  to  understand  him,  Harold.  It  will 
make  a  bigger  man  of  you.  Sometimes  I  think  that 
gentlemen,  like  thieves,  in  their  hearts  never  trust 
anybody,  but  Carney  can  see  through  you  and 
through  me  and  through  nearly  everybody,  and  if 
he  trusts  —  he  trusts,  that 's  all." 

She  sat  down  again  and  leaned  her  elbows  on  the 
table.  He  was  looking  at  her,  at  the  color  that  had 
come  into  her  cheeks  and  at  her  soft,  dark  hair. 
His  face  was  flushed  and  he  half  closed  his  eyes. 
He  did  not  want  to  frighten  her  by  letting  her  see 
all. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said.     "  You  shall  listen !  " 

"  Don't,  Harold,"  she  begged  of  him.  "  We  have 
had  this  all  out  too  often."  Her  low  voice  only 
drove  him  on. 

"  Yes,  I  will.  Kaleema !  Don't  bother  about 
work  for  a  while.  Just  come  back  with  me.  Why 
can't  we  be  happy  for  the  rest  of  the  winter?  Some- 
thing will  turn  up  in  town.  What 's  the  use  ?  Who 
is  going  to  thank  you  for  grinding  like  a  slave? 
Why  don't  you  take  a  little  happiness?  " 

"  Don't !  "  she  said  angrily.  "  I  have  listened  to 
you  for  the  last  time.  Every  word  that  you  say  is 
rot."  She  defiantly  met  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  going  back  with  me." 

She  began  playing  with  the  pen. 

"  You  don't  care  anything  for  me  or  you  could  n't 
treat  me  like  this,"  he  said  at  last. 


56  KALEEMA 

A  look  of  disgust  crossed  her  face.  He  had  said 
that  so  many  times!  Her  only  answer  was  an  ex- 
clamation, half  laugh,  half  sneer. 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  neck  and  whispered  to 
her.  "  Then  go  back  with  me,  dear.  Don't  be  so 
stubborn  about  a  little  thing." 

"  Don't  call  me  stubborn.  It  makes  it  so  hard 
when  you  do."  Her  lips  were  white  again. 

"  Then  come." 

"  When  I  am  alone  I  make  resolutions,"  she  went 
on,  not  heeding  him,  "  and  then  the  minute  you 
speak  to  me  you  pull  them  down.  And  you  know  it. 
I  have  begged  of  you  not  to  do  it,  and  it  is  cowardly, 
cowardly  of  you,  Harold." 

"  'Leema,  you  know  how  I  love  you  —  you  know 
how  I  have  loved  you  ever  since  those  first  days." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered  quietly,  turning 
away.  If  there  was  bitterness  in  the  words,  at  least 
he  heard  none. 

"  I  write  to  you,"  he  went  on,  "  and  you  don't 
answer;  and  if  I  beg  of  you  to  stay,  off  you  go.  1 
have  loved  you  for  a  long  time  now.  When  it  began 
it  seemed  only  something  that  would  soon  be  forgot- 
ten. But  it  can't  be  forgotten  —  night  or  day.  It 
is  half  a  year  now  and  every  day  I  love  you  more." 
It  was  the  truth  being  wrung  from  him. 

"  Oh,  don't,"  she  said  beseechingly. 

He  leaned  very  near  to  her  and  covered  her  hand 
with  his.  He  could  see  that  her  eyes  were  closed. 


KALEEMA  57 

All  that  was  brutal  in  his  love  for  her  was  glad  that 
she  was  suffering. 

"Will  you  go?" 

"No!"  she  answered,  and  when  the  word  was 
spoken  her  lips  went  white  as  death.  "  You  are  a 
coward,  and  I  hate  you  when  you  ask  me  to  go.  .  .  . 
Keep  on  now,  if  you  want  to,  but  I  have  given  you 
my  answer !  " 

He  flung  himself  from  her.  His  own  face  was 
white  and  drawn.  He  was  confronting  the  first  big 
decision  of  his  life,  fighting  the  first  struggle  of 
heart  and  body  and  brain,  of  tradition  and  his  own 
intense  young  manhood.  The  next  moment  he  was 
back  at  her  side.  He  did  not  look  at  her;  he  did 
not  wait  for  anything.  He  rushed  on  blindly. 

"  Kaleema,  will  you  marry  me  here  —  to-day  ? 
Will  you  ?  WTe  '11  not  wait  until  we  get  back  home. 
Then  there  can  be  no  question  about  your  going 
with  me." 

He  talked  as  if  this,  too,  were  an  old  harped-on 
question,  as  if  for  the  hundredth  time  he  were 
begging  her.  Two  men  came  through  the  swinging 
doors  and  went  out  on  the  street,  but  even  while 
they  were  in  the  office  he  seemed  incapable  of  seeing 
them  or  of  lowering  his  voice. 

"  I  am  jealous  of  you  but  I  can't  help  trusting 
you.  I  do  believe  that  you  are  straight  and  truthful, 
'Leema.  And  I  must  have  you  —  I  can't  live  with- 
out you  —  I  can't,  I  can't." 


58  KALEEMA 

He  did  not  see  the  frightened  unbelief  that  was 
in  her  eyes.  She  was  dizzy ;  the  whole  dreary  place 
seemed  dark  and  whirling.  She  was  trying  her  best 
to  recollect  what  she  had  planned  to  do  or  say  if 
things  ever  should  come  to  this,  but  only  irrelevant 
thoughts  would  come  into  her  mind.  Besides,  he 
had  said  it  so  differently  from  the  way  she  had 
dreamed  it  —  not  at  all  as  he  had  loved  her  and  talked 
to  her  at  other  times  —  especially  at  the  beginning. 
But  she  set  about  to  meet  what  had  come.  She  must 
speak  so  that  he  should  not  know  she  was  trembling. 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  know?"  she  asked 
quietly. 

"  Know  what  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Are  you  sure  you  should  ask  me  this  in  spite  of 
—  what  we  both  have  been  thinking  all  this  time  — 
that  a  man  like  you  should  n't  marry  any  one  like 
me." 

The  barrier  was  down.  They  both  breathed 
easier. 

"Kaleema!" 

"  You  know  that  you  have  your  own  way  to  fight 
in  the  world,  now  that  your  family  has  started 
you  .  .  ." 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

".  .  .  and  perhaps  your  —  wild  oats  —  should  be 
left  to  die." 

"  Don't  say  such  things,"  he  said.  He  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead.  What  was  the  use 


KALEEMA  59 

of  talking  about  it  now?  He  was  trying  his  best 
to  put  all  that  out  of  his  mind. 

The  landlord  came  in  and  sat  down  at  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  watching  them  curiously. 

"  I  must,"  she  said  quickly,  her  voice  very  low, 
"  for  it  is  true.  And  it  has  made  me  fear  the  sight 
of  you,  because  I  knew  what  you  were  thinking  — 
yes,  I  knew,  Harold, —  and  I  knew  what  was  com- 
ing to  me  .  .  ." 

"  Have  you  loved  me?  " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.     "  Yes." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  and  he  laid  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder.  He  did  that  so  often  to  cover 
an  insufficiency  of  words.  But  it  was  difficult  to 
find  just  the  right  things  to  say  to  her.  Probably 
words  would  have  come  easily  enough,  but  the  ideas 
themselves  stuck  outside  his  brain. 

"  I  knew  you  were  afraid  of  me  — "  she  went  on. 

"Afraid  of  you?" 

"  Yes,  afraid  of  me,"  she  answered,  "  for  you 
know  all  that  it  would  mean — "  She  checked  her- 
self and  turned  away. 

"  Afraid  of  you?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,"  she  rejoined  almost  fiercely,  "  and  I 
would  rather  face  it  now,  myself,  than  have  it 
slapped  at  me  afterward  .  .  ."  She  had  started 
bravely,  looking  straight  into  his  eyes ;  then  her  lips 
went  very  white  and  she  stopped  suddenly. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  asked. 


60  KALEEMA 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  as  if  to  shut 
out  the  self-inflicted  inquisition.  Something  re- 
minded her  that  happiness  was  here,  and  she  was 
stopping  on  the  threshold  to  forestall  punishment. 
He  put  his  hand  against  her  cheek,  and  when  she 
looked  up  at  him  the  fierce  courage  was  gone. 

"  For  the  last  three  months,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I 
have  tried  to  be  different,  but  .  .  .  And  I  've  noth- 
ing in  the  world,  Harold,  but  three  hundred  dollars 
in  a  New  York  bank  and  three  trunks  full  of  rub- 
bish! "  She  was  very  serious. 

"Well?"  he  said. 

Sometimes  she  did  wish  that  he  would  say  a  little 
more. 

"And  —  and  you  know  the  rest.  All  my  life 
I  have  been  just  knocking  around.  It  makes  me 
afraid  of  so  many  things." 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"  Afraid  of  what  life  will  be  after  the  thing  is 
done,  when  you  look  things  squarely  in  the  face." 

"  I  have  done  that  already,"  he  said. 

"You  were  such  a  fool  six  months  ago,"  she 
went  on  with  a  little  laugh.  "  You  took  me  for  a 
curiosity  — " 

He  did  not  hear  what  she  was  saying.  He  tried 
not  to  look  at  her,  but  she  could  hear  him  breathing. 
"  Will  you  marry  me  to-day?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  What  will  your  mother  say  when  you  marry 
some  of  your  wild  oats  and  take  them  home?  " 


KALEEMA  61 

"  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care.  I  will  do  the 
talking  now." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will  talk  enough,"  she  said,  "  and 
she  will  make  kindling  wood  of  every  word  you  say. 
And  she  will  blame  me,  not  you  — " 

"  She  can't,"  he  interrupted. 

"  Leave  that  to  her.  And  there  will  be  questions, 
unanswerable  questions  — "  She  stopped  abruptly. 
She  went  over  to  the  stove  and  from  there  she 
looked  back  at  him.  "  But  she  shall  never  hate  me, 
Harold,  never.  For  I  shan't  let  her.  I  am  so  happy 
now  that  nothing  can  go  wrong." 

The  old  landlord's  interest  grew. 

Harold  went  to  her  eagerly.  "  Are  you  going 
to  marry  me  now  ?  "  he  asked  very  low,  much  to  the 
disappointment  of  the  old  man. 

"  No." 

"  To-morrow?  " 

"  No." 

"  Yes,  you  will.  To-day.  I  'm  the  boss,  from 
this  on. 

Kaleema  laughed.  That  was  what  she  wanted 
him  to  say.  It  made  him  seem  more  like  a  man. 


CHAPTER  V 

SARAH  SKAMON  came  clattering  down  the  bare 
stairs,  Trilby  laboriously  waddling  after  her. 
Sarah's  heels  clicked  and  Trilby's  toes  scratched. 

It  was  a  rude  awakening  from  the  dream.  Har- 
old turned  impetuously.  More  than  ever  he  hated 
the  show.  From  the  first  it  had  taken  her  away 
from  him. 

When  Sarah  appeared  Kaleema  retreated  to  a 
corner  to  wait  for  what  would  happen.  Even  with 
her  new  happiness  singing  in  her  heart,  she  had  still 
her  work  and  her  duty  to  the  company  to  think  of. 

"  Re-hears-al,"  Sarah  drawled  at  the  top  of  her 
voice. 

Skamon  and  Carney  heard  it  out  in  the  barroom 
and  came  in  and  presently  Mrs.  Giniven,  Godiva,  and 
John  Crichton  arrived.  Skamon  had  arranged  with 
the  landlord  that  considering  how  cold  it  was  in 
every  other  part  of  the  house  they  might  use  the 
deserted  office  for  an  hour. 

Skamon  came  in  with  the  battered  book.  Carney 
stayed  in  the  barroom.  He  could  hear  much  more 
than  enough  out  there.  Harold  sat  on  a  table  out 
of  the  way,  his  eyes  sulkily  and  hungrily  on  Ka- 
leema. Skamon  placed  some  chairs,  and  they  all 

62 


KALEEMA  63 

stood  around  waiting  for  somebody  else  to  come. 

"  Re-hears-al,"  Sarah  called,  going  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs.  "Where's  that  man,  Harry?" 
Skamon  did  not  even  reply,  but  sat  down  and  opened 
the  book.  "  Armand! "  she  called  again,  "  we  're 
waiting." 

Upstairs  a  door  opened  and  closed;  there  was  a 
hurried  tread,  and  de  Bassonville,  nervous  and  di- 
sheveled, appeared  on  the  stairs.  His  part  was  stick- 
ing out  of  his  pocket  and  he  was  smoking  a  cigarette. 
Skamon,  chewing  a  big  cigar,  began  amiably  ex- 
plaining things  to  the  new  man.  He  was  always 
amiable  to  the  new  men.  Every  word  of  the  stale 
old  details  wore  on  Kaleema's  nerves.  She  glanced 
over  at  Harold  and  half  smiled,  then  she  came  back 
to  listening  to  Skamon's  explanations  about  en- 
trances and  windows  and  the  fireplace  and  furniture. 

"Where  are  the  other  folks?"  he  demanded  as 
he  finished.  When  he  spoke  to  Sarah  he  nearly 
snapped  off  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Sarah,  pacifically. 
After  all,  she  was  sorry  for  the  poor,  cross  man. 
He  had  had  a  hard  time  of  it  that  season  with  lead- 
ing men. 

"  Well,  go  on,  go  on !  "  exclaimed  Skamon,  trying 
to  control  his  temper.  "  I  thought  we  had  a  few 
men  with  this  show,  but  go  on,  go  on.  Mr.  de  Bas- 
sonville, we  will  begin  with  your  entrance.  Nanine! 
where  is  she?  " 


64  KALEEMA 

"  Right  here,"  replied  Mrs.  Giniven,  very  haughty. 
It  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  yell  when  she  was 
not  three  yards  from  his  nose! 

Skamon  got  up  and  began  prancing  about. 

De  Bassonville  was  standing  up-stage,  wild-eyed 
and  listening  intently.  Sarah  and  Kaleema  looked 
at  him  and  then  at  each  other.  Then  they  began  to 
cough,  so  that  they  should  not  laugh.  Kaleema  was 
in  a  state  halfway  between  laughing  and  crying. 
She  was  nervously  twisting  her  fingers,  hoping  and 
hoping  the  new  man  would  fail.  That  would  set 
her  free. 

Skamon  went  on  explaining  to  the  new  man. 

"  Nanine  comes  on,  announces  Madame  Prudence 
and  Monsieur  Armand  Duval,  goes  off,  and  Camille 
sits  down.  Then  you  come  on  with  Prudence."  De 
Bassonville  nodded  wildly.  "  After  you  acknowl- 
edge the  introduction  you  cross  left  — " 

"  No,  right,"  interrupted  Sarah. 

"  Who 's  managing  this  show  ? "  snapped 
Skamon. 

"Nobody,"  snapped  Sarah.  "That's  what  ails 
it." 

"  Keep  still !  "  snapped  Skamon. 

"  I  won't,"  retorted  Sarah.     "  I  think  I  know." 

Skamon  looked  at  the  book. 

"  Yes,  it 's  right.  Well,  cross  right.  .  .  .  Now !  " 
He  sat  down,  took  out  his  ragged  handkerchief  and 
wiped  his  brow. 


KALEEMA  65 

Another  wait. 

Skamon  writhed. 

"  Will  Camille  be  good  enough  to  come  on  the 
stage  ?  "  he  groaned. 

"  Pahdon  me! "  exclaimed  Kaleema.  She  picked 
up  her  skirts  and  stalked  in.  The  others  turned 
away  to  hide  their  silly  laughter.  She  did  not  care 
what  Skamon  said  now.  She  was  going  to  have  a 
little  fun.  She  had  not  meant  to  make  him  wait, 
but  she  was  thinking  of  something  else.  Anyway, 
she  was  not  very  much  afraid  of  him,  perhaps  be- 
cause he  owed  her  ninety  dollars.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances any  manager  would  be  rather  lenient  to 
his  Camille. 

Skamon  closed  his  eyes,  and  de  Bassonville  stared 
open-mouthed  at  her  as  she  stood  on  her  heels. 

"  '  Bid  them  enter,'  "  Kaleema  said,  with  an  ex- 
aggerated wave  of  her  hand.  Then  she  sat  down 
on  one  of  the  chairs  so  precisely  placed  by  Skamon. 

Sarah  turned  de  Bassonville  around  and  beckoned 
him  to  follow  her. 

"  '  My  dear  Camille,  allow  me  to  present  to  you 
Monsieur  Armand  Duval,' "  mumbled  Sarah  in  a 
sing-song  that  sounded  to  de  Bassonville  like  nothing 
but  a  hum  until  she  reached  the  cue. 

"  '  Must  I  rise  ?  '  '  demanded  Camille,  who  evi- 
dently had  no  intention  of  doing  so. 

Finally  it  dawned  on  de  Bassonville  that  they 
were  waiting  for  him.  He  knocked  his  brow  and 


66  KALEEiMA 

struggled  with  his  memory,  then  he  seized  the  part, 
looked  at  it  and  thrust  it  back  into  his  pocket. 

" '  No,  Mademoiselle ;  it}  is  not  necessary,'  "  he 
said. 

Then  Sarah  surreptitiously  motioned  him  to  get 
out  of  the  way.  Of  course  it  was  none  of  her  busi- 
ness, but  Harry  seemed  to  be  asleep.  Somebody 
had  to  tell  the  new  man  what  to  do,  for  he  was  stand- 
ing there  like  a  lamp-post. 

"  '  M m not  go  mad,'  "  Camille  mum- 
bled until  she  got  to  the  cue. 

Jimmy  Giniven  suddenly  appeared  from  some 
mysterious  direction  and  took  his  cue  with  mum- 
bling while  he  slid  across  the  floor. 

"  ' —  at  Tours,'  "  he  said  quite  calmly. 

Again  everybody  stood  looking  at  de  Bassonville. 
He  seized  the  part  and  read  it,  hopelessly.  He  was 
really  wondering  where  Giniven  was  when  he  picked 
up  that  cue. 

Again  there  was  a  wait.  Harry  suddenly  looked 
up. 

"  Well,  go  on,  go  on !  What  are  you  waiting 
for?" 

"  Vannlle"  said  Sarah,  very  calmly. 

"Vairvillel  Vannlle  I"  shouted  Skamon. 
"Where  is  he?" 

"  At  the  post  office,"  said  Giniven,  also  very 
calmly. 

"  Certainly,   certainly,"   said   Skamon,   very  bit- 


KALEEMA  67 

terly.  "  The  post  office  can't  wait  but  the  rehearsal 
can.  Well,  go  on,  go  on!  Skip  to  Camille." 

Camille  pointed  her  grimy  thumb  at  de  Basson- 
ville  and  winked  at  Prudence  as  she  spoke  to  her. 

" '  I  begin  to  like  your  friend,'  "  she  said  mean- 
ingly. 

Poor  Sarah  choked  trying  to  keep  back  her  laugh- 
ter. She  wished  to  goodness  Kaleema  would  be- 
have. Harry  would  soon  be  raving  and  cursing. 

"  '  I  guessed  it  would  be  so,'  "  she  answered. 

Camille's  shoulders  went  up  under  the  hoop  ear- 
rings and  she  clutched  her  hands  under  her 
chin.  " '  And  did  he  really  tell  you  that  he  loves 
me  ? '  she  demanded,  looking  pleadingly  into 
Sarah's  eyes. 

"  '  He  did,  and  more,'  "  poor  Sarah  had  to  answer. 

"  '  Monsieur  Duval,'  "  said  Camille. 

Another  wait  for  the  new  man.  Trilby  waddled 
across  the  floor  and  got  stepped  on,  which  made  her 
yelp.  Sarah  slapped  her  soundly,  which  made  her 
yelp  more.  Skamon  rose  and  put  the  torn  prompt 
book  in  his  pocket. 

"  The  rehearsal  is  off,"  he  said.  "  Look  over 
your  part  this  afternoon,"  he  added  to  de  Basson- 
ville  with  horrible  restraint ;  then  he  sat  down  at  the 
office  desk  to  write  a  telegram  which  should  evoke 
another  leading  man. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  de  Bassonville,  "  this  really  is  n't 
my  line."  And  he  dashed  upstairs. 


68  KALEEMA 

"  He  's  got  too  much  on  his  mind,  dickering  with 
Frohman  and  Brady,"  said  Jimmy  Giniven. 

"  And  with  getting  divorces  — '  expensive  things, 
divorces,'  "  burlesqued  Mrs.  Giniven. 

"  He  '11  burst  his  head  before  night,"  said  Godiva. 
"  I  wonder  if  he  thinks  there  's  going  to  be  a  show  ?  " 

Kaleema  stood  watching  Skamon.  She  knew  he 
was  sending  for  another  man.  So  now  was  the  time 
for  him  to  get  another  Camillc.  She  went  over  to 
him,  dreading  it,  because  he  could  be  very  ugly.  She 
sat  down  by  the  table  and  spoke  in  an  undertone. 

"  Mr.  Skamon,"  she  said,  "  this  seems  to  be  a 
good  time  for  me  to  go,  as  I  have  decided  on  leav- 
ing." 

Skamon's  eyes  blazed. 

"  At  the  end  of  your  two  weeks'  notice,  Miss 
West,"  he  said. 

"  To-night,  unless  you  pay  me  the  ninety  dollars 
you  owe  me,"  she  answered. 

"  I  shall  hold  your  trunk  on  your  contract,"  he 
threatened. 

"  And  I  shall  have  you  arrested  if  you  owe  me 
five  cents  when  you  do  it,"  she  retorted. 

Skamon  sneered,  and  she  got  up. 

"  I  had  intended  giving  you  your  notice  to-mor- 
row," he  lied.  "  I  have  decided  to  let  Miss  Traxler 
play  Camille.  You  will  have  to  wait  for  your 
money." 


KALEEMA  69 

"  Everybody  does,  with  you,"  she  replied,  and 
walked  away. 

The  ninety  dollars  meant  three  weeks  of  hard 
work  and  piercing  cold  and  sleepless  nights  and 
eternal  traveling.  She  was  accustomed  to  this  sort 
of  treatment.  Only  she  hoped  that  Harold  had  not 
heard  it.  She  had  always  been  ashamed  of  these 
disgusting  degradations,  and  her  pride  had  done  its 
best  to  keep  them  from  him.  He  could  never  for- 
give all  the  meanness  of  her  world.  She  felt  that 
what  she  had  been  forced  to  accept  from  it  would 
so  lower  her  in  his  eyes.  She  meant  to  forget  it 
herself  now. 

Carney  had  come  in,  and  everybody  understood 
what  was  going  on.  She  asked  Carney  for  the 
check  for  her  trunk,  and  he  gave  it  to  her.  Then  she 
spoke  to  Sarah. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Sarah,  on  your  account.  But  that 
creature  will  never  know  his  lines." 

Sarah  did  not  reply.  Kaleema  was  leaving  them 
in  a  pretty  plight.  It  was  likely  enough  to  close 
the  show.  What  if  they  did  owe  her  some  money? 
Show  business  is  show  business ;  and  she  was  lucky 
that  season  to  be  keeping  a  roof  over  her  head. 
It  was  that  Harold  Barton ;  that 's  what  it  was. 
Sarah  sat  glumly  looking  at  the  floor. 

Kaleema  walked  over  to  the  window  just  as 
Charley  Forbes  and  Sam  Taney  came  in.  She 


7o  KALEEMA 

rubbed  some  of  the  frost  off  the  pane  and  looked 
through  the  cleared  hole,  and  the  boys  could  in- 
stantly see  that  something  had  gone  wrong.  Ka- 
leema  was  calculating  that  the  midnight  train  which 
the  last  leading  man  had  taken  the  night  before 
•would  come  through  this  town,  then  go  to  Sunflower 
Junction,  and  that  she  and  Harold  could  be  married 
and  get  that  train  at  about  ten  o'clock.  In  spite  of 
Skamon  she  smiled.  A  throb  of  joy  came  as  she 
stood  there  planning.  Of  course  everybody  would 
blame  her,  but  they  had  no  right ;  she  was  sick  and 
tired  of  being  cheated  and  cheated  and  cheated. 

The  silence  was  becoming  uncomfortable.  Sarah 
spoke  to  the  old  landlord. 

"  The  show  business  is  n't  much  good,"  she  said. 

A  big,  coarse  man  with  a  newspaper  came  in 
from  the  barroom  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  by  the 
stove.  It  was  Adam  James. 

"  No,  it  is  n't,"  the  landlord  said  wisely.  "  Just 
before  you  folks  came  Mr.  James  here  and  I  were 
talking  about  the  Gipsy." 

There  was  a  quick  motion  over  by  the  window, 
but  nobody  noticed  it.  It  was  just  that  Kaleema 
partly  turned  her  head.  There  was  no  outward  sign 
that  for  an  instant  her  heart  stood  still. 

"  She  was  with  the  first  show  that  ever  came  to 
this  town,"  continued  the  landlord. 

'  The  Gipsy,"  mused  Sarah.  "  Seems  to  me 
I  Ve  heard  of  her  out  here.  Did  you  know  her?  " 


KALEEMA  71 

"Just  saw  her  once,"  replied  the  old  man. 
"  Wore  earrings  —  like  that  young  lady  over  there," 
nodding  toward  Kaleema. 

"  I  knew  her,"  said  Adam  James,  tipping  back 
in  his  chair. 

"  What  did  she  do  ?  "  asked  Sarah.  "  Soubrette  ? 
Did  she  dance  and  sing  ?  " 

"  And  steal,"  said  Adam  James. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  Sarah. 

"  Just  what  I  say.  She  bewitched  the  men  out 
'here  and  got  their  money  and  spent  it  in  gewgaws 
and  drink,  or  threw  it  away.  When  she  came  near 
a  camp  of  mine  I  had  her  driven  out,  for  she  was 
bad  clear  through." 

"  Don't  say  that  about  a  woman  who  is  dead." 

The  protest  came  from  over  by  the  frost-covered 
window,  and  the  girl's  voice  was  clear  and  low. 
But  the  blood  was  pounding  in  her  throat  and 
temples.  Her  dizzy  eyes  could  scarcely  see. 

"  She  should  have  thought  of  that  when  she  was 
alive." 

"  But  she  was  n't  bad  clear  through." 

"  That  was  before  your  day,"  said  he.  "  She  was 
out  here  years  ago,  a  dissolute,  besotted  thing.  She 
was  bad  when  she  came,  and  she  had  a  child  that 
she  always  kept  with  her  and  dragged  through  the 
same  mire." 

The  words  were  barely  uttered  when  Kaleema 
was  at  his  side  and  had  struck  him  such  a  blow  across 


72  KALEEMA 

the  mouth  that  his  chair  fell  back,  and  he  lay  on 
the  floor. 

Nobody  could  speak  or  move.  Carney  alone 
started;  then  his  glance  fell  on  Harold.  As  if  for 
some  place  to  look,  Harold  sat  staring  at  Sarah 
Skamon,  his  eyes  glassy  and  his  dry  lips  pressed  to- 
gether. The  girl  stood  and  watched  the  man  as  he 
dizzily  got  to  his  feet.  When  he  was  up  she  stood 
looking  steadily  into  his  blurring,  angry  eyes.  His 
lip  was  bleeding. 

"  That  is  a  lie,"  she  said.     "  She  was  my  mother." 

The  man's  hand  closed  and  he  started  to  move, 
but  he  suddenly  found  that  Carney  was  standing  be- 
fore him. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say  about  it  ?  " 
James  sneered. 

"  Nothing  as  long  as  you  hold  your  tongue  and 
stay  right  where  you  are,"  quietly  answered  Carney. 

James's  hand  relaxed.  He  understood  the  ac- 
curacy in  the  ring-man's  eyes. 

Again  the  silence.  It  seemed  as  if  the  others  had 
been  turned  to  stone,  but  the  girl  had  forgotten  them. 
She  saw  nothing  but  Adam  James,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  her  mind  but  the  consciousness  of  her 
own  purity  and  bitter  memories.  When  she  spoke 
her  voice  rang  with  their  intensity. 

"  She  did  keep  me  with  her,  through  every  misery 
on  earth ;  there  was  good  in  her  and  she  gave  it  all 
to  me.  I  was  with  her  when  you  drove  her  from 


KALEEMA  73 

the  camps.  I  suppose  you  are  Adam  James.  Be- 
cause she  hated  you  and  would  never  take  a  copper 
from  you,  you  hated  her.  But  you  never  conquered 
her!" 

She  picked  up  her  suitcase  and  went  upstairs ;  they 
heard  her  go  into  a  room  and  close  the  door. 

She  had  been  there  perhaps  a  minute  when  the 
door  was  opened  and  Harold  came  in. 

His  face  was  livid. 


CHAPTER  VI 

KALEEMA  had  stood  her  suitcase  on  the  only 
chair  in  the  room  and  thrown  her  hat  and 
coat  on  the  bed.  When  Harold  opened  the  door 
she  was  at  the  dresser,  idly  fingering  the  edge  of  the 
soiled  towel  that  covered  the  top  of  it.  She  kept 
this  up,  in  silence,  for  perhaps  half  a  minute  after 
he  came  in.  It  did  not  surprise  her  that  he  stood 
there  tongue-tied  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

Moreover,  she  was  not  frightened  and  imploring 
as  he  expected  she  would  be.  Instead,  though  he 
did  not  know  it,  the  agonizing  strain  of  the  past 
months  was  ended  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  for  the 
first  time  since  she  had  known  him  the  blood  was 
flowing  freely  through  her  veins.  She  had  tried,  in 
a  way,  to  make  him  understand  about  her,  but  now 
all  deception  was  over.  Thank  God  for  that! 

Her  struggle  was  over,  too.  Many  a  sleepless  night 
she  had  tossed  through,  trying  to  decide  whether 
to  hold  to  the  laws  and  the  customs  that  the  women 
of  his  own  world  lived  by,  or  accept  the  happiness 
he  offered  and  its  degradation.  There  was  nothing 
on  earth  to  stop  for  or  consider;  only,  mysteri- 
ously rooted  in  her  nature,  was  the  dream  and  the 
longing  for  the  best  that  life  could  give.  Now  she 

74 


KALEEMA  75 

had  done  her  best,  and  the  outcome  was  left  to  him. 
She  was  sure  that  everything  between  them  was 
over.  Somehow  she  did  not  much  care.  She  felt 
that  she  had  been  slowly  climbing  to  a  great  height, 
and  when  it  was  attained  had  fallen  with  a  whirring 
crash  back  into  the  depths.  She  was  stunned  and 
tired  enough  not  to  care.  It  was  such  a  relief  to 
have  the  climbing  over.  She  had  always  been  fight- 
ing and  struggling  for  something  beyond  her.  That 
was  foolish,  and  she  would  never  do  it  again. 

She  was  surprised  that  when  she  tried  to  speak 
it  was  a  little  hard  to  keep  back  the  tears.  But 
Harold  was  standing  there  like  a  statue,  and  she 
did  not  want  to  exasperate  him  by  keeping  silent. 

"  You  asked  me  a  little  while  ago  why  I  was 
afraid  to  marry  you,"  she  said.  She  bit  her  lips 
to  steady  them.  ".  .  .  Now  you  know.  ...  It 
was  n't  to  spare  you.  I  'm  as  '  good,'  so  far,  as  any 
one.  It  was  just  to  spare  myself.  It  was  because 
I  know  what  the  world  is,  and  what  I  might  expect, 
and  I  could  n't  bear  it  —  after  we  were  married,  and 
—  and  —  you  had  had  your  way,  to  be  thrown  out 
when  you  knew." 

It  hurt  her  to  say  it  and  the  tears  filled  her  eyes. 
Harold  winced  and  moved  uncomfortably.  His 
mouth  opened,  but  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  no 
words  in  it. 

"  No,  listen  to  me,"  she  said,  and  he  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed. 


76  KALEEMA 

"  I  am  different  from  you,"  she  went  on.  "  I 
know  it,  and  I  was  afraid  of  you.  I  was  afraid  of 
your  mother,  and  your  father,  and  your  whole 
world.  You  know  I  am  not  a  child.  I  have  seen 
nearly  all  the  misery  that  life  can  know.  My  mother 
showed  me  that.  She  kept  me  safe,  but  my  child 
eyes  saw  what  she  could  not  hide.  And  she  made 
it  my  lesson.  I  was  hers  and  she  loved  me,  and  all 
the  good  in  her  she  put  in  me.  She  taught  me  her 
lesson  and  mine.  .  .  .  That  is  what  every  mother 
wants  her  child  to  do  —  to  begin  where  she  ended, 
and  go  on,  on —  And  it  is  so  cruel  when  God 
throws  each  one  back  to  the  beginning." 

She  said  it  very  simply,  without  looking  at  him, 
standing  there  before  him,  her  hands  hanging  at 
her  sides. 

"  She  was  n't  really  a  gipsy,  but  she  came  from 
the  eastern  part  of  Europe  and  she  wore  big  brace- 
lets and  earrings  and  was  very  dark,  and  they  called 
her  that.  When  she  came  to  this  country  she  was 
young  and  pretty  and  strange,  and  when  her  father 
died  they  put  her  in  a  cafe  to  sing.  There  were 
other  women  there.  That  is  all  I  remember  —  of 
the  first  —  that  music  —  jingle,  jingle,  clang,  clang, 
and  the  fall  of  money  on  the  tables  or  on  the  floor, 
every  night  for  years,  it  seems  to  me.  She  used  to 
take  me  with  her  and  put  me  on  a  pile  of  rags  in  a 
corner  out  of  the  way.  We  were  both  of  us  dread- 
fully dirty. 


KALEEMA  77 

"  And  then  we  traveled,  and  everything  came  — 
that  ought  not  to  have  come  —  even  when  I  was 
working  and  we  had  honest  money.  And  she  was 
always  wishing  that  she  could  die.  It  was  terrible. 
Because  I  loved  her  just  as  if  she  were  all  right. 
But  she  thought  I  should  be  better  off  without  her. 
...  I  used  to  buy  her  decent  clothes  and  make  her 
clean  up.  But  she  had  n't  the  knack  of  staying 
clean.  She  would  take  a  new  dress  and  wrap  it 
around  a  dirty  bundle.  Once,  when  I  was  little,  she 
stole  an  old  trunk,  and  she  had  n't  half  enough  stuff 
to  put  in  it,  so  when  she  was  singing  out  in  the 
camps  she  used  to  lay  me  in  it  to  sleep  until  she 
was  ready  to  put  me  to  bed.  Often  I  used  to  stay 
there  all  night.  When  I  was  naughty  she  used  to 
take  me  by  the  hands  and  dance  me  around  in  funny 
dances  until  I  stopped  crying. 

"  She  could  n't  stand  it  to  be  lonesome.  She 
wanted  to  be  always  talking.  And  she  always  quar- 
reled with  women.  In  the  camps  she  played  cards 
and  cheated  the  men.  She  always  started  the  fight 
and  they  were  glad  enough  to  let  her  go.  Then, 
as  you  already  know,  she  was  killed  two  years  ago 
in  a  wreck,  when  she  was  coming  to  me.  .  .  .  Some 
way  I  seem  never  to  miss  seeing  those  women  with 
old,  bright  ribbons  around  their  necks,  and  old  thin 
feathers  on  their  hats  and  old  rags  of  handkerchiefs 
squeezed  up  in  their  hands. 

"If  you  had  been  what  I  was  used  to,  that  sort 


78  KALEEMA 

of  man,  I  should  have  remembered  the  lessons,  but 
you  are  so  different,  Harold.  God  always  catches 
us  unawares.  .  .  .  That 's  the  reason  life's  lessons 
don't  do  any  good.  And  these  months,  how  bit- 
terly I  have  blamed  my  mother !  —  not  for  what  she 
was  but  that  she  should  have  got  me  here.  Nobody 
has  a  right  to  do  that.  Life  is  too  cruel.  She  tried 
to  be  good  to  me  and  I  loved  her,  but  I  have  always 
suffered;  at  first  because  I  was  always  tired  and 
too  hot  or  too  cold,  and  then  because  she  would  n't 
be  decent  and  clean,  and  now  because  I  have  lived 
at  all.  If  I  had  a  child  I  would  rather  it  should  die 
than  have  it  suffer  what  God  has  sent  to  me." 

She  slowly  turned  back  to  the  battered  old  dresser 
and  began  again  absently  fingering  the  edge  of  the 
soiled  cover. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AGAIN  it  seemed  to  Kaleema  that  Harold  would 
never  speak.  But  still  she  did  not  care.  Still 
the  feeling  of  rest  and  relief  was  with  her. 

As  for  Harold,  he  sat  staring  at  her,  but  his  brain 
seemed  to  have  stopped.  He  had  not  heard  all  that 
she  said,  and  of  what  he  did  hear  he  got  very  little 
of  the  poignant  meaning.  His  anger  had  abated, 
because  considerable  time  had  passed,  and  also  be- 
cause she  was  quiet  and  did  not  attempt  to  force  the 
issue.  That  was  all  her  truth  and  simplicity  meant 
to  him. 

Finally  he  moved,  and  she  knew  he  wanted  to  say 
something  but  the  words  were  sticking  in  his  throat. 

"What  sort  was  your  father?"  he  managed  to 
get  out  at  last. 

She  gave  a  little  low  laugh.  "  What  sort  would 
you  imagine?  "  she  said. 

She  had  never  had  any  illusions  concerning  her 
father.  She  wondered  if,  even  yet,  Harold  did  not 
understand.  His  adolescent  wisdom  had  always 
doubted  her  because  she  did  not  belong  in  the  cate- 
gory where  his  lot  was  cast,  but  it  shrank  from  fac- 

79 


8o  KALEEMA 

ing  the  worst  of  things.  She  pitied  him  with  all  the 
maternal  instinct  in  her  as  she  went  on. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  determined  to  open  wide  his 
eyes,  "  I  really  had  n't  any." 

Again  there  was  silence.  And  again  his  brain 
was  standing  still.  The  impetuosity  of  his  boyish 
need  for  companionship  had  let  him  mingle  with 
cheap  girls  and  share  their  fun  and  sympathy  and 
take  their  friendship  and  buy  their  cigarettes,  but 
it  had  never  revealed  to  him  that  he  would  suffer 
through  them. 

Then  she  heard  him  get  up  and  come  toward  her. 
He  stood  very  close,  but  he  did  not  touch  her. 

"  Kaleema,  what  will  become  of  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  What  becomes  of  most  human 
beings?  " 

"  You  can't  be  human  and  be  ...  always  good." 

"  Good !  "  It  broke  from  her  in  a  desperate  cry  as 
she  turned  and  faced  him.  It  was  his  nearness  that 
wrung  it  from  her,  and  to  have  him  stand  there 
without  touching  her.  "  Good !  What  does  it 
mean,  anyway  ?  Oh,  I  'm  not  good !  I  'm  only 
afraid  of  the  degradation.  I  know  it  so  well  —  so 
well!" 

She  turned  back  to  the  dresser.  What  was  the 
use  of  talking  to  him ! 

Suddenly  he  seized  her  and  kissed  her  until  her 
breath  was  nearly  gone.  When  finally  she  lay  weak 
in  his  arms  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her  ex- 


KALEEMA  81 

ultingly;  then  gave  a  little  nervous  laugh  because 
she  was  so  sweet  and  so  like  a  frightened  child,  and 
he  loved  her. 

"  Don't !  —  don't  touch  me !  "  she  gasped. 

"Why?  "said  Harold. 

She  wrenched  herself  free  from  him  and  went 
over  to  the  bed  and  picked  up  her  hat. 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  putting  her  hand  to 
her  lips  to  keep  back  a  groan,  "  because  I  love  you 
and  you  have  made  me  tell  you  so!  And  because 
I  am  lonesome,  and  because  now  it  is  only  a  step 
to  hating  you,  and  —  and  to  killing  you  — " 

She  put  on  the  hat  and  picked  up  her  gloves  and 
coat. 

'"Leema!" 

"  Don't !     For  God's  sake,  don't !  " 

She  got  the  suitcase  and  went  to  the  door  and 
threw  it  open. 

"  'Leema,  we  are  going  to  be  married  just  the 
same." 

"  Unless  you  are  sure,"  she  answered,  "  don't 
come.  I  am  going  to  Chicago  to-night.  You  know 
where  to  find  me  there.  Don't  move!  Stay  where 
you  are.  A  train  leaves  in  a  few  minutes.  I  am 
going  alone  to  the  station.  You  stay  right  where 
you  are." 

She  turned  to  go  out,  and  her  hand  was  on  the 
door  to  close  it. 

"'Leema,  won't  you  say  good-by?" 


82  KALEEMA 

She  put  down  the  suitcase,  turned,  and  went  back 
to  him.     He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
Then  she  went  out  and  closed  the  door. 

Downstairs  the  office  was  deserted.  She  found 
the  landlord  and  told  him  the  manager  would  pay  for 
her  room.  She  asked  no  advice  about  trains,  and 
the  old  man  watched  her  suspiciously  as  she  picked 
up  the  suitcase  and  left. 

None  of  the  company  was  in  sight.  She  knew 
that  Sarah  was  keeping  them  away  from  her  so  that 
she  could  be  alone  with  Harold.  She  wanted  to 
see  Sarah  for  just  a  moment,  but  she  was  afraid 
that  if  she  looked  for  her  she  would  see  Harold 
again.  She  knew  the  others  would  understand  that 
she  could  not  endure  to  say  good-by. 

At  the  station  she  found  that  in  an  hour  she  could 
get  a  slow  train  and  go  to  the  junction,  and  she  was 
glad  that  she  could  wait  for  the  through  train  there. 
It  seemed  such  an  eternity  until  half -past  ten,  when 
the  through  train  was  due,  and  probably  it  would 
be  much  later.  Even  that  first  hour  seemed  as  if 
it  would  never  end. 

Every  time  she  heard  a  step  outside  on  the  snow 
she  thought  her  heart  would  stop  beating.  She 
wondered  if  Carney  were  in  his  room  at  the  hotel. 
She  wondered  if  Harold  believed  what  she  had  told 
him  about  the  train's  leaving  immediately,  or  if 
he  would  come  to  find  out  for  himself.  After  she 


KALEEMA  83 

had  been  pacing  the  waiting-room  for  half  an  hour 
she  heard  another  step  outside  and,  turning  quickly, 
saw  Carney  pass  the  window.  He  stamped  the 
snow  from  his  shoes  and  came  in. 

"  I  saw  you  leave  the  hotel  and  knew  you  would 
have  to  wait  an  hour  for  a  train,"  he  said. 

While  she  was  pacing  the  forsaken  station,  he  had 
been  walking  the  narrow  floor  of  his  room  or  sitting 
with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  He  had  meant 
to  go  to  her  just  a  few  minutes  before  train  time. 
Then,  at  the  end  of  a  half  hour,  he  could  stand  it  no 
longer  and,  almost  breathless,  reached  the  station 
in  five  minutes.  Of  course  it  was  none  of  his  busi- 
ness. But  over  and  over  and  over  again  that  scene 
at  the  hotel  kept  running  through  his  mind  —  how 
Harold  had  sat  silent,  his  face  livid,  while  Adam 
James  staggered  to  his  feet  and  Kaleema  talked  to 
him  and  then  took  her  suitcase  and  went  upstairs. 
When  he  got  to  that  sight  of  her  he  would  close  his 
big  hands  and  walk  still  faster. 

"  I  have  brought  you  down  a  little  money,"  he 
said. 

"  Money!  "  exclaimed  Kaleema. 

He  took  out  the  money  and  a  receipt  for  her  to 
sign.  He  had  remembered  all  the  details.  He 
counted  out  forty  dollars.  She  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve it. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  said.  "  How  did 
you  get  it?  " 


84  KALEEMA 

"  Take  it,"  said  Carney. 

"  Has  it  made  trouble  for  you  ?  " 

"  See  here,  'Leema,  do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ? 
I  have  a  little  something  to  say  about  this  show." 

"  Yes,  you  have,"  she  muttered ;  "  about  as  much 
as  you  have  about  the  weather."  She  signed  the 
receipt  and  took  the  money. 

Carney  folded  the  receipt  and  put  it  back  in  his 
pocket.  An  hour  later  he  burned  it  over  his  lamp 
and  threw  the  ashes  out  of  the  window.  That  was 
the  best  he  could  do  to  stand  between  her  and  her 
misery  with  Harold. 

"Oh!  but  I  'm  glad  to  have  that,"  said  the  girl. 
She  had  pulled  out  the  "  grouch  bag  "  and  was  stuff- 
ing the  money  in.  "  Carney,  if  it  gets  you  into 
trouble — "  she  began,  but  he  interrupted. 

"  I  'm  nearly  through,  myself,"  he  said. 

"  Poor  Sarah,"  said  Kaleema.  "  She  would  like 
to  be  honest.  Think  of  living  with  Skamon  all  these 
years!  " 

There  were  so  many  things  that  they  wanted  to 
say.  But  back  at  the  hotel  Carney  had  made  up  his 
mind  not  to  linger.  Why  should  he? 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  know  what  address  will 
reach  me  in  New  York,  and  if  I  can  ever  do  anything 
for  you  — "  He  could  not  finish  the  sentence.  He 
had  been  afraid  before  he  started  that  this  would  be 
the  way.  He  walked  over  to  the  window. 


KALEEMA  85 

Kaleema  followed  him.  Unashamed  tears  were 
in  her  eyes. 

"  I  can't  say  good-by  to  anybody,"  she  sobbed, 
"  but  I  would  like  to.  Tell  'em  — " 

The  man  could  not  speak.  He  put  his  arm  around 
her  shoulders  and  put  his  hand  against  her  cheek. 

In  the  distance  they  heard  the  whistle  of  the 
train. 

He  wondered  if  Kaleema  had  any  idea  of  what 
being  with  her  these  months  had  meant  to  him. 
He  thought  grimly  that  no  one  would  ever  know 
as  well  as  he  did  how  true  she  had  been  to  her  love 
for  Harold.  He  remembered  last  night,  when  he 
had  gone  back  to  her  dressing-room  after  every  one 
else  had  left,  her  apparent  desperate  loneliness  and 
yet  the  swift  repulse  of  his  advances. 

Then  it  came  to  him  that  he  had  determined  not 
to  stay  until  the  train  came. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  pulling  himself  together. 
Three  other  people  came  into  the  waiting-room.  He 
shook  hands  with  her  and  patted  her  shoulder ;  then 
he  went  out  and  started  to  walk  across  a  great  un- 
broken stretch  of  snow. 

Kaleema  did  not  see  him  leave  the  station.  By 
the  time  she  had  dried  her  eyes  and  got  her  suitcase 
out  on  the  platform  the  train  was  in,  and  she  hurried 
aboard.  Then  she  looked  out  of  the  window. 

But  Carney  was  not  there.     A  terrible  homesick- 


86  KALEEMA 

ness  seized  her.  It  seemed  as  i  f  she  could  never  stay 
on  that  train  and  feel  it  bearing  her  away.  Carney, 
the  towns  and  their  busy  streets,  the  beautiful  woods, 
the  giant  trees,  the  pretty  roads,  the  fields  of  green 
or  of  glistening  snow,  the  sunsets,  the  air  and  sky 
—  everything  free  and  fine  that  she  had  ever  known 
seemed  to  have  turned  its  back  on  her. 

She  covered  her  lips  to  keep  back  a  cry,  and  the 
long- fought  tears  came.  How  she  wanted  all  those 
people  that  she  was  leaving  —  even  the  wretched  lit- 
tle Giniven  child!  As  the  train  pulled  along  she 
sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  regardless  of 
the  curious,  staring  people  in  the  seats  near  by,  sob- 
bing as  if  her  heart  were  breaking. 


PART  II 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MOTHER,  it  is  a  telegram." 
Though  the  girl  tried  to  keep  her  voice 
calm,  it  nevertheless  sounded  somewhat  unsteady. 
The  family  was  rather  high-strung. 

When  Gertrude  had  chanced  to  see  the  messenger 
just  going  out  of  the  door  she  had  intercepted  the 
maid,  and  that  much  quicker  got  the  dreaded  thing 
into  her  own  hand.  It  was  addressed  to  "  Mrs. 
Joseph  Lloyd  Barton,"  and  Gertrude  went  hur- 
riedly into  her  mother's  room  to  deliver  it. 

Mrs.  Barton  turned  from  her  desk,  took  the  tele- 
gram, then  in  her  haste  dropped  her  glasses  on  the 
floor.  She  did  not  wait  to  see  if  they  were  broken. 
Gertrude  impatiently  picked  them  up,  but  her  mother 
was  already  fumbling  with  the  envelope  and  a  lorg- 
nette. Finally  the  envelope  was  torn  open  and  Mrs. 
Barton  read  the  message. 

"  What !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  sat  staring  at  the 
paper. 

Without  further  ceremony  Gertrude  seized  it. 

"  Good  heavens !  "  she  gasped,  and  looked,  wild- 
eyed,  at  her  mother. 

Then  she  read  the  message  aloud,  to  be  sure  that 
89 


90  KALEEMA 

they  had  both  got  the  same  meaning.  "  Was  mar- 
ried this  morning.  Start  home  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Barton  and  Gertrude  stared  at  each  other. 

"Mother!"  exclaimed  Gertrude;  then  again, 
"  Mother !  "  She  looked  at  the  telegram  again. 
"  Sent  from  Chicago.  .  .  .  Had  you  the  faintest 
idea?" 

"  Why,  certainly  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Barton  im- 
patiently, indignant  at  the  suggestion.  She  took 
the  telegram  back  into  her  own  hand.  "  When  it 
came  I  knew  it  was  from  Harold,  but  I  supposed  he 
had  been  killed  or  was  dying." 

"  In  that  case  he  would  not  be  sending  telegrams," 
said  Gertrude  curtly.  She  hated  shocks  in  the  fam- 
ily. Usually  they  were  in  some  way  connected  with 
her  father's  crankiness,  which  set  all  their  nerves 
shivering.  This  was  a  new  kind  of  shock. 

Again  Mrs.  Barton  reverted  to  the  telegram,  as 
if  with  sufficient  persistency  more  information  could 
be  squeezed  from  it.  Her  lips  were  set  very  tight, 
with  a  white  streak  of  excitement  around  them, 
and  one  of  her  slippered  feet  was  nervously  trotting 
on  the  rug. 

Gertrude  pulled  up  a  chair  and  sat  down.  They 
were  both  too  confused  for  continued  speech.  Mrs. 
Barton  began  tapping  her  lorgnette  on  the  letters 
and  bills  scattered  on  the  desk.  This  was  the  first 
time  in  two  months  that  she  had  even  opened  the 
bills,  and  she  had  been  upset  enough  before  the  tele- 


KALEEMA  91 

gram  came.  She  and  Gertrude  were  still  staring 
vacantly  at  each  other. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Barton.  That  was 
the  way  she  disposed  of  many  annoying  things.  She 
was  a  very  pretty  woman,  plump  and  very  young- 
looking  when  one  considered  that  Edna,  her  oldest 
child,  already  married  and  divorced,  was  thirty  years 
old. 

"  Well,  here  's  the  telegram.  You  don't  think  he 
has  lost  his  mind?"  said  Gertrude. 

"  He  certainly  has  lost  it  if  he  is  married,"  was 
her  mother's  cheerful  rejoinder.  "  That  boy ! 
I  'm  so  shocked,  Gertrude,  that  I  can't  think  ration- 
ally." 

"  He  is  twenty-five,"  reminded  Gertrude.  She 
was  twenty-three,  and  was  far  from  considering  her- 
self a  child.  She  was,  though,  more  capable  and 
better  poised  than  Harold.  He  was  the  petted  one 
of  the  family. 

"  And  to  think  that  he  never  —  What  will  your 
father  say?  I  am  positively  afraid  to  tell  him. 
Can  we  get  Lloyd  by  telephone  ?  I  must  talk  to  him. 
That  was  sent  this  afternoon.  They  start  home  to- 
morrow. Who  on  earth  has  he  married  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  that  he  was  lying  when  he  went  away," 
Gertrude  said  suddenly.  "  And  he  lied  the  last  time, 
too,  for  that  matter.  Don't  you  remember  when  he 
went  West  before?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  admitted  Mrs.  Barton. 


92  KALEEMA 

"  He  has  n't  business  that  takes  him  to  any  place 
but  Pittsburgh,  to  see  Mr.  Thomas.  And  last  No- 
vember he  simply  snapped  when  I  asked  him  where 
he  was  going.  He  's  acted  queer  all  winter,"  con- 
tinued Gertrude,  "  and  I  told  Edna  so,  but  as  usual 
she  did  n't  see  it.  Perhaps  if  we  had  paid  more  at- 
tention to  the  simpleton  we  might  have  saved  him 
some  nice  trouble." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Barton,  following  her  own 
trend  of  thought,  "  that  I  ought  to  go  and  tell  your 
father.  Is  he  in  his  room  ?  .  .  ..  But  I  can't  believe 
that  it  is  true,  and  I  don't  like  to  get  him  excited  for 
nothing.  He  will  be  offended  if  I  don't  tell  him, 
though." 

She  rose  abruptly.  It  was  very  apparent  that  she 
did  not  expect  much  comfort  or  support  from  the 
interview. 

"  Why,  Gertrude,  I  can't  think  of  a  soul  — " 

"  Neither  can  I,"  interrupted  Gertrude,  knowing 
perfectly  what  her  mother  was  going  to  say. 
"  Anne  Thomas  would  never  marry  him  that 
way." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mrs.  Barton.  "  Besides, 
he  has  n't  treated  her  decently  for  a  year.  Tele- 
phone to  the  club  and  ask  if  your  brother  Lloyd  is 
there.  But  don't  tell  him  until  I  come.  I  always 
supposed  Harold  would  marry  Anne.  She  has  so 
much  money,  and  he  knows  perfectly  well  that  he 
has  n't  a  cent  to  his  name." 


KALEEMA  93 

She  picked  up  her  handkerchief  that  was  on  the 
desk,  stopped  by  sheer  force  of  habit  before  a  mir- 
ror, and  then  went  to  her  husband's  room. 

It  was  an  apartment  up  in  the  Eighties,  East,  in 
which  they  lived.  It  was  expensive,  of  course,  but 
it  was  just  as  inexpensive  as  they  could  possibly  find 
of  the  required  size  and  location.  Evidently  there 
was  money  somewhere  in  the  family.  There  was. 
And  in  a  most  awkward  place,  too. 

Twenty-six  years  ago  it  had  belonged  to  Grand- 
mother Barton.  By  that  time  in  her  life  she  keenly 
appreciated  what  a  spoiled  and  selfish  creature  she 
had  made  of  her  only  child,  Joseph  Lloyd  Barton. 
She  loved  his  wife  and  their  two  children,  Edna  and 
Lloyd;  and  when  she  died  her  adored  son  found  to 
his  horror  and  everlasting  chagrin  that  she  had  left 
him  her  jewelry,  silver,  pictures,  and  her  once  grand 
but  now  shabby  furniture,  but  had  bequeathed  every 
cent  of  her  money  and  every  scrap  of  her  property 
to  his  two  little  children.  The  old  lady's  heart  was 
in  the  right  place,  but  quite  unintentionally  she  did 
two  very  unjust  things :  she  did  not  leave  her  son's 
wife,  whom  she  dearly  loved,  so  much  as  a  pin,  and 
she  entirely  overlooked  the  fact  that  more  babies 
might  arrive. 

The  upholstering  was  the  worst  that  ailed  the  old 
mahogany  furniture.  And  this  Mrs.  Barton  had 
spasmodically  changed  and  repaired  as  best  she  could 
on  her  husband's  income.  He  had  stepped  into  his 


94  KALEEMA 

father's  law  office  but  not  into  his  father's  shoes,  and 
the  firm  paid  him  for  his  name  rather  than  for  his 
brains.  For  some  time  these,  such  as  they  were, 
had  seemed  to  be  softening.  Now  for  days  he  sel- 
dom went  near  the  office.  Instead,  he  stayed  at 
home  and  bothered  the  servants  and  tortured  his 
family. 

Edna,  now  thirty,  and  Lloyd,  twenty-eight,  came 
with  glorious  independence  and  completeness  into 
their  money  when  they  were  of  age.  But  they  were 
thrifty  and  had  always  lived  on  their  incomes, 
which  they  well  might,  considering  the  size  of  them. 
Lloyd  got  through  college  and  then  started  in  on  a 
life  that  seemed  chiefly  to  require  his  eating  as 
much  as  he  could,  with  the  result  that  he  was  very 
soft  and  fat,  and  looked  about  played  out.  Al- 
though Edna  was  two  years  older  she  looked  ten 
years  younger.  She  had  already  been  married,  to 
a  pompous  Judge  Gibson,  but  he  had  made  her  very 
unhappy,  and  none  of  the  family  blamed  her  for 
leaving  him.  One  tyrant  on  their  hands  was  con- 
sidered enough.  At  present  she  was  engaged  to 
Arthur  Haydn,  a  young  novelist  who  earned  a  de- 
cent living.  She  and  Lloyd  bore  the  greater  part 
of  the  household  expenses,  for  they  adored  their 
mother  and  loved  their  home,  and  nothing  but  matri- 
mony could  induce  them  to  leave  it.  Mrs.  Barton 
was  utterly  devoted  to  her  children.  She  neglected 
every  outside  interest  for  them  and  would  break  any 


KALEEMA  95 

engagement  if  they  asked  her  to  go  with  them  for 
any  amusement  or  to  do  them  a  favor. 

There  was  an  especially  sympathetic  spot  in  her 
heart  for  Harold  and  Gertrude,  the  two  little  strag- 
glers. She  admitted  that  perhaps  the  lack  of  patri- 
mony would  be  best  for  Harold  in  the  end,  but  it 
was  hard  on  both  of  them  and  not  quite  fair. 
Ever  since  Harold's  first  college  days  she  had  been 
banking  on  Anne  Thomas.  The  families  were  life- 
long friends,  and  the  girl  herself  was  adorable. 
Motherlike,  she  had  Harold's  life  all  planned  out  for 
him.  Only,  motherlike,  she  had  forgotten  to  tell 
him  about  it ;  and  she  quite  overlooked  the  fact  that 
whether  he  was  shut  up  in  his  room,  just  a  few  rods 
away  from  her,  or  was  downtown  in  his  office  or  ex- 
ploring strange  places  such  as  she  never  dreamed  of, 
his  life  was  developing  and  his  brain  working  quite 
independently  of  her.  The  surprise  was  so  sudden 
that  the  shock  left  her  stupid. 

Mrs.  Barton  tapped  at  her  husband's  door  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  opened  it  and  went 
in.  She  stood  in  actual  fear  of  him,  he  was  so  child- 
ish and  unreasonable. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  she  began,  "  I  have  just  had  a 
telegram  from  Harold."  She  always  tried  to  be 
good  to  her  husband  and  assuage  the  jealous  mis- 
givings of  his  brain. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  and  he  had  come  back 
from  his  afternoon  walk  only  a  short  time  before. 


96  KALEEMA 

A  red  carnation  was  in  his  buttonhole.  He  was  a 
good  deal  of  an  old  dandy.  He  was  tall  and  thin, 
with  full  eyes,  introspective,  suspicious.  His  mus- 
tache had  been  skilfully  touched  with  dye  and  waxed ; 
the  lips  beneath  it  were  loose  and  full,  and,  when  he 
was  alone,  kept  moving.  He  would  sit  by  the  hour, 
his  head  down,  silently  talking  to  himself. 

He  grudgingly  put  down  the  magazine  he  was 
holding,  as  his  wife  drew  up  a  chair.  Of  course 
Harold  would  never  think  of  sending  the  telegram 
to  him. 

"  He  says  that  he  was  married  this  morning,"  she 
went  on. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence. 

"  I  suppose  the  rest  of  you  knew  all  about  this 
before,"  was  his  opening  observation. 

"  My  dear  boy,  no!  "  exclaimed  his  wife.  "  Cer- 
tainly not.  I  was  never  more  astounded  in  my 
life." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Nellie,"  he  said  with 
grieved  dignity,  strumming  his  ringers  on  the  maga- 
zine. 

"  My  dear  boy,  ask  the  children,"  she  insisted,  lay- 
ing her  hand  appeasingly  on  his  sharp  knee.  "  Ask 
Harold  himself  when  he  comes  home.  Perhaps 
Lloyd  and  Edna  knew, —  I  have  n't  seen  them  yet, — 
but  Gertrude  and  I  did  not. 

By  that  time  his  curiosity  was  getting  the  better 
of  his  dignity. 


KALEEMA  97 

"  What  has  he  married?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  n't  the  remotest  idea. 
He  simply  says  that  he  is  married  and  starts  home 
to-morrow." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  Chicago." 

He  sneered  his  digust. 

"  Well,"  he  threatened,  "if  he  has  done  anything 
outrageous  he  '11  regret  it.  He  '11  hear  from  me." 

"  Wait  until  we  know,"  she  answered  consolingly. 
"  And  we  must  not  forget  that  fate  has  not  been 
very  kind  to  Harold." 

"  Yes,  and  what  has  fate  done  for  me?  "  he  de- 
manded, hitching  himself  up  in  his  chair.  She  knew 
she  had  got  that  started  before  the  words  were  off 
her  lips.  But  it  was  too  late  to  take  them  back. 
"  At  the  mercy  of  my  children,"  he  went  on.  "  At 
my  age.  Living  in  a  way  that  /  can't  afford." 

"  But  you  and  Harold  and  Gertrude  and  I  could 
be  just  as  comfortable  and  happy  if  Edna  and  Lloyd 
had  their  own  homes.  There,  there.  Don't  let  us 
worry  about  that,  dear  boy." 

She  gave  a  last  pat  to  his  sharp  knee  and  rose. 
She  never  could  bring  herself  to  abuse  his  mother 
and  the  two  older  children,  even  though  she  knew 
that  that  was  exactly  what  he  wanted.  Anyway,  it 
was  too  late  now  by  many  years  for  her  to  win  his 
good  graces.  For  some  unaccountable  reason  she 
was  the  one  whom  he  blamed  for  all  his  misfor- 


98  KALEEMA 

tunes.  And  his  worst  grudge  against  her  was  her 
"  there,  there,  dear  boy,"  and  the  pat  on  his  knee. 
The  poor,  nervous  woman  had  done  it  for  years, 
never  dreaming  how  it  exasperated  him.  He  was 
morbidly  jealous  of  her,  too.  Yet  he  had  repeatedly 
threatened  to  leave  her,  and  the  dread  of  her  life 
was  that  some  day  he  would  fulfil  the  threat  and 
leave  her  stranded ;  for  stranded  she  would  be.  She 
had  not  a  penny  of  her  own  or  any  family  to  turn 
to,  and  she  never  would^take  money  from  her  chil- 
dren for  herself,  even  should  it  enter  their  heads 
to  offer  it  to  her.  And  it  was  not  likely  that  the 
two  with  money  would.  They  would  insist  that  she 
live  with  thfcm,  of  course  (whether  she  liked  it  or 
not),  but  Edna  -and  Lloyd  seemed  possessed  of  a 
very  strong  belief  in  the  divine  rights  of  kings  and 
inheritors. 

Having  accomplished  her  duty  of  breaking  the 
news  to  her  husband,  Mrs.  Barton  straightened  some 
of  his  furniture,  patted  some  of  his  cushions,  and 
then  left.  She  always  so  wanted  to  run  from  his 
presence  that  she  habitually  forced  herself  to  tarry 
and  bestow  these  careful  attentions.  And  it  just 
as  regularly  infuriated  the  children  to  see  her  flut- 
tered attendance  on  him.  But  she  knew  best. 
There  were  some  things  that  the  children,  wise  as 
they  were,  did  not  understand. 

If  ever  a  woman  earned  her  living,  Mrs.  Joseph 
Lloyd  Barton  earned  hers.  Only  she  did  not  have 


KALEEMA  99 

the  satisfaction  of  being  comfortable  while  she  was 
about  it,  for  her  heart  was  in  her  throat  most  of  the 
time.  Often  when  her  husband  had  been  threaten- 
ing and  sulking  for  days,  she  would  hunt  up  the 
maid's  duster  and  vigorously  polish  his  furniture 
and  talk  about  the  weather  and  having  his  clothes 
pressed,  trying  to  convince  him  that  he  was  not 
abused  and  forsaken.  If  Harold  caught  her  before 
she  got  into  the  room,  he  would  take  the  duster  from 
her,  slam  it  in  a  corner,  and  lead  her  back  to  her 
own  room,  angrily  denouncing  his  sulking  father. 
She  would  cautiously  close  the  door  and  sit  trembling 
until  the  boy's  voice  was  lowered.  If  he  had  had 
money  enough  to  take  care  of  his  mother,  he  swore 
there  would  have  been  one  grand  upheaval  in  the 
family.  He  himself  was  just  helpless  enough  to 
sympathize  with  her.  And  she  loved  him  for  his 
sympathy,  though  its  demonstrations  frightened  her. 

When  she  left  her  husband's  room  and  regained 
the  hall  she  found  that  Lloyd,  in  his  riding  clothes, 
had  returned  from  the  park.  He  stood  by  a  light, 
his  gaze  glued  to  the  telegram,  Gertrude,  her  arms 
akimbo,  standing  before  him  and  volubly  explain- 
ing that  nothing  could  be  explained.  When  his 
mother  appeared  he  stared  at  her  stupidly,  then  threw 
the  telegram  on  a  table  and  walked  on  into  his  own 
room. 

The  next  moment  he  was  back.  They  knew  he 
would  be. 


ioo  KALEEMA 

"  I  suppose  he  thinks  he  's  a  very  bright  boy," 
he  observed  disgustedly,  dropping  on  a  chair  near 
the  tea  table. 

Mother  and  sister  remained  silent. 

"  Nice  mess  he  '11  make  of  it  on  what  he  earns," 
he  added. 

A  minute  later  the  door-bell  rang  and  Mrs.  Gib- 
son and  Arthur  Haydn  came  in.  Gertrude  thrust 
the  telegram  at  them  and  then  stood  back  to  see  the 
effect. 

"  Um-hum,"  said  Edna,  calmly,  staring  at  her 
mother.  "  I  hope  she  has  more  money  than  he  has. 
...  Is  n't  he  a  little  fool !  "  Matrimony  and  di- 
vorce had  made  her  very  wise  and  patronizing. 

Arthur  Haydn  assisted  her  to  remove  her  furs 
and  said  nothing,  but  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he 
was  hoping  that,  for  Harold's  sake,  his  wife's  money 
was  lacking.  He  had  recently  discovered  one  or 
two  flaws  in  the  disposition  of  Edna  Barton  Gibson. 
And  they  were  caused  chiefly  by  her  income. 

Then  Edna  began  to  laugh. 

"  Really,  it 's  too  ridiculous.  That  kid !  Do  you 
suppose  it  could  be  Anne  Thomas  ?  I  've  a  notion 
to  call  up  Pittsburgh  and  ask  if  Anne  is  at  home." 

"And  what  will  you  say  if  you  get  her?"  de- 
manded Gertrude. 

"  Tell  her  the  news,"  answered  Edna. 

"  Much  she  cares !  "  exclaimed  Lloyd. 


KALEEMA  101 

"  I  really  think  she  did  like  Harold,"  said  Mrs. 
Barton. 

"  Then  worse  and  more  of  it,"  said  Gertrude. 
"  Let 's  not  be  ridiculous,  but  wait  until  he  somes." 

"My  poor  boy!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Barton. 
"  What  trouble  has  he  got  into !  " 

Then  Mr.  Barton,  too  curious  to  stay  away,  came 
in  and  sat  down,  and  the  children  looked  frightfully 
bored,  and  Mrs.  Barton  very  punctiliously  fixed  his 
tea. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHEN  Kaleema  walked  out  of  the  station 
and  stood  in  Forty-second  Street  that  Janu- 
ary morning,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  opened 
her  eyes  in  another  world.  For  the  first  time  in  all 
her  experiences  of  landing  there  she  saw  the  sky  as 
well  as  the  sidewalk. 

The  sole  purpose  in  her  mind  was  not  the  mad 
search  for  an  expressman  to  get  her  trunk  across 
town,  hoping  she  would  immediately  afterward  have 
to  get  it  out  again  for  another  engagement. 

It  was  only  a  few  months  ago  that  she  had  last 
stood  there,  but  the  buildings  and  the  streets  and 
the  policemen  all  seemed  changed.  They  were  not : 
Kaleema  was  happy. 

It  was  Sunday,  so  there  was  no  need  for  Harold 
to  rush  for  the  office,  wondering  the  while  whether 
or  not  he  would  find  himself  discharged  for  his  ab- 
sence. He  had  had  permission  —  grudgingly  given 
—  to  go,  but  he  had  never  been  allowed  to  feel  too 
secure,  and  he  was  not  aware  of  the  fact  that  it 
was  suspected,  and  most  profoundly  hoped,  that  he 
would  soon  be  married,  and  that  his  mind  would 
then  more  than  occasionally  be  centered  on  his  work. 

102 


KALEEMA  103 

Indeed,  whatever  was  erratic  in  that  office  was  either 
understood  or  given  permission  to  depart.  It  just 
happened  that  Harold  had  made  himself  valuable 
and  that  his  employers  had  taken  the  trouble  to  un- 
derstand him. 

He  and  Kaleema  had  stopped  at  a  telephone  booth 
in  the  station  while  he  talked  to  his  mother  long 
enough  to  tell  her  that  he  was  in  town  and  would 
be  at  home  immediately.  Kaleema  had  insisted  on 
that  in  the  train,  for  she  knew  how  his  mother  would 
be  worrying. 

Her  teeth  nearly  chattered  when  she  thought  of 
Mrs.  Barton,  though  it  was  only  intuition  that  led 
her  to  suspect  what  sort  she  must  be.  Harold  had 
scarcely  mentioned  the  other  members  of  the  family, 
and  they  seemed  so  vague  that  they  did  not  even 
frighten  her.  She  did  not  quite  realize  that  they 
existed.  Indeed,  he  had  been  very  reticent  about 
himself.  That  had  always  puzzled  her.  But  she 
had  never  asked  him  any  questions.  She  did  not 
know  that  he  had  been  a  long  time  perplexed  over 
which  address  to  give  her  for  his  mail,  home  or 
office.  Finally  he  had  given  her  the  office,  and  his 
heart  was  in  his  throat  ever  after  in  the  fear  that 
trouble  might  come  of  it.  She  had  often  wondered 
if  he  were  already  married.  But  asking  him 
would  n't  have  done  any  good. 

His  own  nerves  were  strung  to  the  breaking  point. 
He  had  arranged  that  while  he  went  home  she 


104  KALEEMA 

would  get  them  settled  for  a  day  or  two  at  one  of 
the  cheaper  Broadway  hotels.  A  good  deal  of  what 
little  money  he  had  saved  had  been  spent  in  these 
wild  journeys. 

At  the  corner  she  took  her  suitcase  and  they  sep- 
arated, Kaleema  glad  enough  to  be  alone  for  a  little 
while  so  she  could  shampoo  her  hair  and  make  her- 
self pretty.  She  would  have  said  good-by  to  him, 
however,  but  he  darted  off  like  a  young  deer  without 
a  word  of  parting. 

It  seemed  to  Harold  that  he  never  would  reach 
home.  He  expected  all  degrees  of  horror,  dismay, 
and  scolding;  but  he  had  braced  himself  against 
them.  Now  that  he  had  made  the  plunge,  he  would 
face  it,  and  he  could  hardly  wait  to  get  there  and 
have  the  whole  business  off  his  mind.  He  meant 
not  to  gloss  things  over  but  to  tell  the  truth  —  that 
is,  nearly  the  whole  truth.  There  were  one  or  two 
little  things  that  they  need  never  know.  Such  as 
about  Adam  James  and  the  dead  gipsy.  Otherwise, 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  apartment,  he  was  ready 
to  justify  Kaleema  to  them. 

His  key  was  scarcely  in  the  lock  when  his  mother 
herself  opened  the  door.  She  threw  her  arms 
around  him  and  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her.  He 
hoped  that  she  was  alone.  Then  she  set  his  bag 
on  the  floor  and  drew  him  into  the  living-room, 
where  she  could  get  a  better  look  at  her  beloved  boy. 
The  whole  family  was  present,  even  Arthur  Haydn. 


KALEEMA  105 

Harold  wondered  what  he  was  doing  there  at  that 
hour  in  the  morning.  It  was  no  business  of  his. 

Edna  was  broadly  smiling.  She  never  did  have 
any  sense,  anyway! 

"  My  dear  child !  "  said  his  mother. 

It  was  not  at  all  what  he  had  expected. 

"  I  should  have  told  you,  Mother,"  he  said  apolo- 
getically, "  only  I  did  n't  realize  it  myself  until  after 
it  was  done." 

"  Were  you  married  looking  down  the  muzzle  of 
a  gun?  "  asked  Edna. 

"  I  was  not,  Mrs.  Gibson,"  he  replied  angrily. 
"  And  let  me  tell  you  — " 

"  There,  there,  children,  don't  quarrel,"  interposed 
Mrs.  Barton. 

"  Then  tell  Edna  to  mind  her  own  business,"  mut- 
tered Harold. 

His  mother  helped  him  to  pull  off  his  overcoat; 
then  she  reached  up  her  chubby  arms  and  put  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Whom  have  you  married,  Harold?  " 

"  A  little  actress,  Mother.     A  nice  girl,  though." 

"  I  hope  you  '11  be  happy,  Harold,"  said  his 
mother,  and  turned  away  with  a  profound  sigh. 

Harold  sat  down  and  rested  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  head  on  his  hands.  The  pose  was  not 
cheerful.  Edna  glanced  at  Haydn,  but  he  was  star- 
ing at  the  floor.  For  fully  a  minute  there  was  si- 
lence. They  knew  he  was  regretting  it  already. 


io6  KALEEMA 

"  Nice  family  ?  "  inquired  Gertrude. 

"  No,"  answered  Harold  shortly.     "  None  at  all." 

"  Who  introduced  you  to  her?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  Nobody,"  replied  Harold.  He  did  not  look  up. 
He  could  imagine  the  expression  of  their  faces. 
Then  he  went  on.  "  I  saw  her  in  a  boarding-house 
in  West  Thirty-eighth  Street.  I  went  there  with 
a  chap  I  know  to  see  another  fellow.  Awful 
neighborhood,  but  the  house  is  all  right.  She  was 
sitting  on  the  stairs  throwing  pennies  to  a  hand-organ 
kid  that  had  come  into  the  lower  hall,  and  then  the 
monkey  ran  in  and  she  was  afraid  of  it,  and  it 
chased  her,  and  we  all  got  to  laughing  and  talking." 

Silence  followed  his  explanation.  He  knew  with- 
out glancing  up  that  they  were  staring  blankly  at 
him  and  at  one  another.  Such  proceedings  were  not 
within  the  range  of  their  comprehension.  Perhaps 
Lloyd  and  Haydn  had  heard  of  such  things.  In  his 
mind's  eye  he  saw  again  very  vividly  that  hot  Satur- 
day afternoon  —  himself  off  on  a  half-holiday  - 
the  loud  music  booming  in  at  the  open  windows  as 
Kaleema  ran  screaming  up  the  stairs,  the  monkey 
at  her  heels;  and  he  saw  her  tripping  on  her  dress 
and  falling  in  a  heap  right  in  front  of  him.  He 
had  never  thought  about  introductions  until  now. 

"  And  you  have  lied  half  the  time  about  going 
away  on  business?"  asked  Gertrude  finally. 
"  Yes,"  replied  Harold. 
"  Is  she  .  .  .  respectable  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 


KALEEMA  107 

"Just  as  respectable  as  Gertrude  and  Edna,"  he 
replied. 

"  That  helps  some,"  observed  Edna,  and  he  knew 
perfectly  well  she  was  grinning-. 

"  Well,"  said  Gertrude  very  quizzically,  "  if  you 
were  going  to  marry  an  actress,  why  did  n't  you 
marry  one  a  little  bit  well  known  ?  " 

"  Oh,  lord !  "  groaned  Lloyd,  and  he  and  Haydn 
began  laughing  uproariously. 

"Are  you  going  to  let  us  look  at  her?"  asked 
Lloyd  presently. 

"If  you  will  condescend  to  do  so,"  answered 
Harold.  Then,  to  his  mother,  "  May  I  bring  her 
to  see  you?  She  's  a  little  queer." 

Haydn  and  Lloyd  thought  he  would  do  better 
to  let  them  find  out  a  few  things  for  themselves. 

"  Certainly,"  his  mother  replied  quietly.  She 
was  prepared  for  anything. 

Again  there  was  silence. 

"  We  always  thought,"  observed  Gertrude  after 
a  while,  "  that  you  would  marry  Anne  Thomas." 

Harold  glared  at  her. 

"  And  go  round  with  her  handing  out  the  money 
for  me  to  tip  waiters?  Giving  me  an  allowance, 
perhaps.  No,  thank  you." 

He  jumped  up  and  swung  out  of  the  room. 

He  went  into  his  own  room  and  closed  the  door. 
It  looked  very  very  restful  and  clean.  After  what 
he  had  lately  seen,  it  was  heaven. 


io8  KALEEMA 

For  a  moment  he  stood  still,  his  gaze  consciously 
avoiding  his  own  eyes  reflected  in  the  mirror  op- 
posite. Then  he  deliberately  turned  and  looked  at 
the  door,  to  be  sure  that  it  was  closed  and  none  of 
the  mild  disgust  and  ridicule  he  had  left  outside 
could  pry  after  him. 

The  interview  just  ended  was  much  briefer  than 
he  had  expected  and  very  different  from  what  he 
had  planned.  It  had  passed  in  about  ten  minutes. 
He  had  thought  that  it  would  last  a  day.  But  it  had 
dulled  the  newness  and  the  strangeness  of  his  mar- 
riage. The  impulses  and  arguments  that  he  had 
been  storing  up  for  the  past  six  months  would  now 
never  be  spoken.  Even  Kaleema  seemed  five  years 
away.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  standing  with  his 
hands  full  of  ashes. 

He  got  his  bag  and  repacked  it  with  fresh  things ; 
then  he  went  back  down  town. 


CHAPTER  X 

ON  the  way  down  the  memories  of  the  past 
forty-eight  hours  stung  him  with   rebellion 
against  what  he  had  met  at  home. 

With  it  came  the  consciousness  that  he  was  going 
back  to  Kaleema.  And  that  he  wanted  blindly,  pas- 
sionately to  go. 

The  family's  ridicule  and  remoteness  had  viciously 
torn  him  out  of  his  wilful  dream.  It  was  just  what 
he  had  expected.  Ridicule  and  remoteness  were  the 
intimate  enemies  of  his  life. 

He  put  the  blame  on  the  bondage  of  his  marriage. 
Without  that  he  could  have  loved  the  girl  with  his 
whole  soul.  It  was  the  owning  her  and  the  paying 
for  her  out  of  pride  and  tradition  that  dulled  the 
beauty  and  the  strangeness  of  her  and  the  joy  of 
possession.  Without  that  his  world  could  have 
moved  along  unknowing,  and  he  could  have  lived 
in  full. 

When  he  reached  the  hotel  and  went  up  to  the 
room  he  found  her  in  her  kimono,  sitting  by  the 
window  in  the  rays  of  the  winter  sun,  combing  her 
drying  hair. 

There  was  no  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  went  in. 
109 


no  KALEEMA 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  overcoat  and  threw  them 
down.  She  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  but  he  did 
not  return  her  gaze.  Then  the  next  instant  he 
threw  off  his  coat  and  went  to  her  and  pulled  her 
to  her  feet.  She  smiled;  that  was  answer  enough. 
This  was  the  longest  that  they  had  been  separated 
since  that  wonderful  Friday  morning.  He  thrust 
his  fingers  into  the  cool  dampness  of  her  dark, 
fluffy  hair,  and  she  lowered  her  lashes  and  ran  her 
hand  over  the  monogram  on  his  shirt  sleeve.  Then 
he  kissed  her,  and  took  the  comb  away  from  her 
and  threw  it  across  the  room.  Then  he  pulled  down 
the  curtain. 


CHAPTER  XI 

TO  his  surprise,  Kaleema  refused  to  go  to  his 
mother  the  next  day.  She  said  she  was  tired 
and  fidgety,  and  would  not  Tuesday  do  ?  Evidently 
it  would  have  to;  so  it  was  settled  that  they  were 
to  meet  at  the  Knickerbocker  as  near  five  as  Harold 
could  make  it  from  the  office,  go  to  his  mother's, 
and  stay  just  half  an  hour.  Kaleema  made  him  be 
very  definite  about  that  half-hour.  She  knew  that 
she  could  not  last  through  a  minute  more. 

"  And  I  hope  to  goodness  she  talks  all  that  time 
about  the  weather,"  she  said,  nervously  biting  her 
nails. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Harold,  just  as  fervently.  Ka- 
leema gave  him  a  quick  little  look. 

When  the  time  carrte  she  kept  him  waiting.  Five, 
ten,  fifteen  minutes  passed,  and  he  was  getting  angry 
when  he  heard  her  voice  at  his  elbow.  He  turned, 
and  then  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

She  looked  lovely,  from  the  toes  of  her  new  shoes 
to  the  top  of  her  smart  little  hat  —  new  suit,  new 
furs  and  all. 

"  Lord,  you  're  beautiful!  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  My  Gawd,  I  ought  to  be,"  she  answered.  "  I 
in 


112  KALEEMA 

blew  most  of  the  three  hundred.  No  wonder  it  took 
two  days  to  do  it." 

A  fat,  sporty-looking  man  who  was  passing  heard 
what  she  said  and  stood  still  to  look  at  her.  A  flush 
of  annoyance  covered  Harold's  face.  She  did  not 
see  it.  She  was  too  much  interested. 

"  And  clean  hands,"  she  said,  "  and  a  manicuring 
that  makes  the  search-light  up  at  Highlands  look  like 
a  dirty  deuce  in  a  yellow  mud  puddle." 

The  fat  man  laughed,  and  Harold,  red  to  his  ears, 
took  her  arm  and  hurried  her  out  of  the  hotel. 

Kaleema  was  smiling  in  her  perfect  satisfaction, 
and  she  was  so  beautiful  that  everybody  stared  at 
her.  Harold  was  biting  his  lips  to  keep  back  his 
disgust  and  anger.  The  general  effect  of  her  to 
passing  pedestrians  was  that  she  must  be  starring  on 
Broadway,  she  looked  so  very  happy  and  just  suffi- 
ciently independent  and  haughty.  Most  of  them 
looked  with  morbid  curiosity  at  Harold.  They  won- 
dered where  he  got  all  his  money.  It  infuriated 
him.  He  wished  he  had  a  placard  stating  that  he 
was  her  husband.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
noticed  how  overly-wise  Broadway  is;  and  how  it 
can  stare. 

"  Lots  of  expensive  actors  in  town,"  observed 
Kaleema.  "  Gee !  look  at  their  bored  expressions ! 
Ain't  it  awful  to  be  alive !  And  d'  you  get  the  wrist- 
watches  and  the  handkerchiefs  up  their  sleeves?  I 
don't  know  any  of  them.  All  my  friends  are  on 


KALEEMA  113 

the  road;  comin'  away  from  Skamon  or  goin'  to 
him.  .  .  .  With  these  clothes  on,  I  wonder  if  I  could 
ever  land  a  silk-stocking  job  ?  " 

'  You  have  on  a  great  deal  too  much  paint,"  said 
Harold. 

"  I  have  not,"  she  answered.  "  You  let  my  paint 
alone,  little  one.  Say,  would  n't  it  be  funny  if  I  got 
an  interview  with  a  ve-ry  important  stage  director 
and  he  asked  me  what  I  was  with  last  and  I  raised  my 
eyebrows  haughtily  and  said,  '  Dillon  and  Ska- 
mon'?" 

She  laughed  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  half-way 
across  the  street. 

Harold's  reply  was  cut  short  by  her  turning  sud- 
denly and  waving  a  little  white-gloved  hand  at  a 
shabby,  dissipated-looking  man.  It  was  one  of  her 
old  managers,  and  he  came  hurrying  back  to  them. 
Evidently  he  did  not  owe  her  anything.  Harold  was 
forced  to  pause. 

"  I  say,  kiddo,  but  you  're  lookin'  fine !  "  the  man 
exclaimed,  wringing  her  hand  extravagantly. 
"  Workin'  ?  "  he  asked,  glancing  at  Harold. 

"  Just  left  one  of  Dillon  and  Skamon's  bum 
shows,"  she  answered.  "  Out  in  Dakota.  Some 
jump,  believe  me.  Say,  but  it's  nice  to  see  you! 
Married  last  week,  too.  This  is  Mr.  Barton,"  she 
announced,  with  beaming  pride. 

"  Married !  "  he  exclaimed,  shaking  Harold's  hand, 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  she  had  neglected  to  men- 


ii4  KALEEMA 

tion  his  own  name.  "  Say,  that 's  fine !  And 
you're  lookin'  great.  Show  business,  Mr.  Barton? 
No?  Lucky  man.  Come  in  and  see  me,  both  of 
you,  soon.  Talk  over  old  times.  I  '11  bet  you  're 
crazy  already  to  get  back  to  it." 

"  Not  when  I  'm  sober,"  said  Kaleema. 

He  laughed.  "  Well,  good-by,  good-by.  See 
you  soon.  Be  sure  to  run  in,  'Leema." 

Even  after  they  parted,  both  he  and  Kaleema 
turned  their  heads  and  waved  their  hands.  She 
seemed  to  be  extraordinarily  enthusiastic  about  thai 
shabby,  dissipated-looking  man!  And  the  creature 
fairly  devoured  her  with  his  big  black  eyes. 
"  Kiddo  "  and  was  she  "  workin'  " !  Harold  was 
knocking  into  people  in  his  haste  and  rage.  He  felt 
that  they  were  labeled.  "  Show  people,  show  peo- 
ple "  was  what  their  appearance  evidently  said.  He 
was  finished  with  that  neighborhood  when  he  had 
Kaleema  with  him. 

Gaining  control  of  his  voice,  he  spoke. 

"  To  say  the  least,  you  might  take  off  the  ear- 
rings." 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  and  then  she  meekly 
pulled  them  off  and  dropped  them  down  the  neck  of 
her  dress. 

How  he  dreaded  parading  in  at  home!  Thank 
Heaven,  he  had  told  his  mother  over  the  telephone 
that  he  wanted  Hadyn  kept  out  of  the  way.  He 


KALEEMA  115 

was  not  in.  the  family  yet  —  not  by  a  long  shot  — 
and  he  and  'Leema  were  n't  going  up  there  for  his 
analytical  amusement.  He  hoped  that  Edna 
would  n't  be  there.  But  he  knew  she  would  be. 

Kaleema  had  not  the  faintest  idea  where  they  were 
going.  For  all  that  Harold  had  ever  told  her  to 
the  contrary  his  mother  might  reside  in  Hester 
Street.  But  she  went  unconcernedly  wherever  he 
took  her.  She  had  done  it  often  enough  before  with 
others,  so  why  be  inquisitive  now?  She  had  even 
frequently  gone  alone  into  cheap  hotels  to  strange 
men's  rooms  and  answered  their  questions  about 
salary  and  experience  and  weight  and  height  and 
wardrobe,  and  let  them  measure  her  to  see  if  she 
could  wear  the  last  woman's  tights  and  boots. 

She  was  seeing  things,  too,  as  they  walked  along. 
She  saw  how  people  looked  at  her,  and  knew  just 
what  they  thought.  That  was  the  reason  she  cared 
so  much  for  the  greeting  of  the  shabby,  dissipated- 
looking  man.  They  had  been  together  for  months 
and  months,  working  and  playing  together,  and  he 
did  not  think  suspiciously  about  her.  He  could 
really  respect  a  person  when  he  had  to.  She  was 
seeing  the  lazy,  contemptuous,  sophisticated  faces 
that  judged  some  things  correctly  and  misinterpreted 
a  great  deal  more.  That  seemed  to  be  one  of  the 
chief  occupations  of  the  taxi-drivers  lining  the  curbs 
and  of  those  who  drifted  along  the  sidewalks:  won- 


ii6  KALEEMA 

dering  cynically  what  each  woman  was  hunting  for 
—  a  snub  from  an  office  boy,  or  some  fool  to  pay  for 
being  amused  by  her. 

It  was  evident  that  they  were  going  uptown. 
They  were  in  a  very  good  neighborhood  and  turned 
into  a  well-appointed  building.  The  attendants, 
knowing  Harold,  respectfully  let  them  go  on.  Both 
were  thinking  so  busily  about  other  things  that  it 
took  them  rather  by  surprise  to  discover  that  they 
had  arrived.  The  quiet  maid  and  the  handsome 
apartment  did  not  fall  in  very  readily  with  her  re- 
flections. 

Mrs.  Barton  met  them  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
Kaleema.  Kaleema  smiled  nervously  as  she  said, 
"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Barton  ?  "  and  allowed  her- 
self to  be  led  to  a  sofa.  As  soon  as  Harold  decently 
could  he  fled  to  his  own  room  and  closed  the  door. 
Kaleema  was  thankful  to  have  him  go,  if  he  intended 
to  keep  up  his  fidgeting.  Only  she  hoped  he  would 
not  forget  about  that  half-hour  business. 

Once  closeted  in  his  own  room,  he  recalled  that 
Kaleema  had  been  frankly  and  sweetly  meeting  his 
mother's  eyes  and  answering  her  questions  as  they 
sat  there  together.  And,  after  all,  her  paint  was  all 
right,  and  she  had  n't  on  any  obvious  powder.  He 
hoped  Gertrude  would  go  in.  He  wanted  her 
opinion. 

If  only  Edna  and  Haydn  and  Lloyd  would  keep 
out  of  the  way.  .  .  . 


KALEEMA  117 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  paced 
back  and  forth  for  ten  minutes.  Then  he  opened 
the  door  and  listened.  He  heard  laughter  and  many 
voices.  Of  course!  Edna  and  Lloyd  were  there  — 
the  whole  bunch  of  them.  They  seemed  to  be  hav- 
ing a  good  time  with  her.  .  .  .  Good  lord!  they 
were  asking  her  about  the  shows. 

He  closed  the  door  and  strode  back  to  the  window. 
He  began  opening  drawers  and  boxes  and  putting 
things  in  order.  Then  he  tacked  up  a  picture  that 
had  fallen  down.  He  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of 
removing  his  possessions.  A  minute  later  he  opened 
the  door  and  listened  again. 

"  Are  the  stages  ever  small  ?  "  he  heard  her  ex- 
claim. "  Why,  some  of  'em  are  so  awful  that  you 
break  the  footlights  or  knock  over  the  scenery  every 
time  you  faint  or  get  murdered." 

It  was  time  to  go,  regardless  of  the  half -hour. 
He  hurried  across  the  hall  and  into  the  living-room. 
There  they  all  were,  even  Haydn,  smiling  at  her  in 
undisguised  admiration.  She  was  laughing  quite 
naturally,  and  her  teeth  were  very  white  and  pretty 
against  her  dark  skin.  She  did  look  lovely.  And 
there  was  n't  a  thing  the  matter  with  her  clothes. 

When  he  appeared  she  rose.  Mrs.  Barton  ex- 
claimed that  of  course  they  must  stay  for  dinner. 
By  that  time  Harold  wanted  to  stay.  After  all, 
perhaps  he  had  got  himself  worked  up  over  nothing. 
He  glanced  at  Kaleema,  but  she  was  very  charmingly 


ii8  KALEEMA 

telling  a  lie  about  their  having  an  engagement. 
Edna  came  and  pulled  him  aside  while  the  others 
were  talking  at  the  door. 

"  You  know,  Harold/'  she  began,  "  I  always  was 
your  friend." 

Harold  jerked  away.  He  did  not  feel  like  any  of 
her  teasing. 

"  Harold,"  she  pleaded,  "  do  me  one  last  favor. 
Her  color  is  beautiful.  What  kind  does  she  use?  " 

"  I  only  know,"  snapped  Harold,  "  that  it 's  fifty 
cents  for  a  great  big  can." 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  they  left  the  elevator  Harold  looped 
his  arm  through  hers  and  hurried  her  out 
into  the  crisp  evening  air. 

"Where  shall  we  go  for  dinner  to-night?"  he 
said. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  one  of  the  little  French  res- 
taurants downtown?"  she  answered. 

"  Very  well,"  he  replied ;  and  he  ran  her  along 
and  they  slid  a  few  paces  on  the  thin  coating  of  ice 
that  covered  the  sidewalk. 

Harold  was  whistling. 

That  was  the  only  sign  he  ever  gave  her  that  she 
had  not  disgraced  him  on  that  much-dreaded  day. 

He  did  not  speak  once  all  the  way  downtown. 
Neither  did  Kaleema.  She  was  persistently  blinking 
her  eyes  to  keep  back  tears.  His  silence  was  almost 
too  much  for  endurance  this  time. 

When  they  got  off  the  car  he  took  her  into  a  drug 
store,  because,  he  said,  he  had  forgotten  something 
and  must  call  up  a  man.  Once  inside  the  booth  he 
called  up  home.  He  asked  the  maid  for  his  mother, 
and  she  came  to  the  telephone.  He  cleared  his 
throat  twice  while  he  was  waiting. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her,  Mother?  "  he  said. 
119 


120  KALEEMA 

"  She  is  very  nice,  dear,"  she  answered. 

"  What  do  you  really  think  ?  "  he  said.  Her  mild- 
ness did  not  deceive  him. 

"  Why,  that  she  is  very  nice,"  she  repeated  with 
emphasis. 

Yes,  she  was  very  nice.  He  understood.  She 
was  not  Anne  Thomas,  that  was  all. 

"  Please  let  me  speak  to  Gertrude,"  he  said ;  and 
he  heard  his  mother  put  down  the  receiver  and  call 
to  her. 

"  Hello.  Yes  ?  "  said  Gertrude  over  the  tele- 
phone. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her?  "  asked  Harold. 

"  That  she  is  perfectly  lovely,  you  idiot,"  she 
replied. 

"  Very  common  ?  " 

"  Just  a  little.     Most  people  are." 

"What  did  Lloyd  say?" 

"  Nothing." 

"What  did  Edna  say?" 

"  Just  grinned." 

"What  did  that  fool  Haydn  say?" 

"  That  she  is  some  live  wire.  Also  very  natural. 
He  's  crazy  about  her.  Says  he  did  n't  know  you 
had  so  much  sense." 

"  Good-by.  ...  I  say,  what  do  you  really 
think?" 

"  That  she  is  lovely,  and  that  you  need  n't  worry 
about  what  anybody  thinks  about  her." 


KALEEMA  121 

"  Good-by." 

"  Good-by." 

He  always  knew  that  he  would  get  the  truth  from 
Gertrude. 

The  little  restaurant  was  crowded,  but  at  last  they 
found  a  table  for  four  with  two  places  left.  Two 
very  young  men  were  there  already.  Kaleema 
smiled  at  them  as  she  sat  down.  She  began  smok- 
ing and  tried  very  hard  to  talk  to  Harold.  He  was 
unresponsive  and  sat  gazing  around  at  the  uninter- 
esting crowd.  Evidently  the  two  boys  were  rather 
shy;  and  besides,  she  was  afraid  Harold  would  not 
like  it  if  she  talked  to  them.  Two  or  three  times  she 
rubbed  her  handkerchief  over  her  eyes  and  said  that 
the  smoke  kept  getting  into  them. 

She  kept  Harold  there  as  long  as  she  could;  then 
she  suggested  a  picture-show.  After  that  she 
wanted  a  nice  long  walk,  so  they  walked  until  Harold 
was  tired.  They  were  hungry  again,  so  they  went 
and  ate  something.  It  was  very  late  when  they  got 
back  to  the  hotel. 

Up  in  their  room  she  was  a  long  time  getting  her 
outdoor  things  off,  her  waist  and  skirt  removed  and 
her  kimono  on.  The  things  did  not  seem  new  any 
more.  She  carelessly  hung  up  the  suit  and  hat  and 
threw  the  furs  into  their  box,  forgetting  to  put  on 
the  cover.  The  earrings  had  worked  down  inside 
her  corset  and  were  pressing  into  her  skin,  but  she 
did  not  feel  them.  By  that  time  Harold  was 


122  KALEEMA 

ready  to  open  the  windows  and  put  out  the  light. 

"  Go  ahead,"  she  said.  "  My  head  aches,  and 
for  a  little  while  I  am  going  to  curl  up  in  this  big 
chair." 

Harold  looked  at  her  stupidly. 

"Sit  up?"  he  said. 

"  For  just  a  little  while."  She  turned  away  from 
him.  She  had  fought  to  her  limit  against  the  tears 
that  filled  her  heart  and  were  flooding  to  her  eyes. 
She  was  struggling  to  love  him  just  the  same;  but 
there  alone  with  him  the  hurt  was  so  keen.  She 
clenched  her  hands,  then  opened  them  and  pushed 
back  her  loosened  hair.  It  seemed  to  her  he  would 
never  put  out  the  light. 

He  came  over  and  kissed  her.  Her  teeth  were 
closed  very  tight  for  the  long  breath  that  his  lips 
were  pressed  to  hers.  She  kept  her  eyes  closed,  but 
her  pride  made  her  smile  when  he  raised  his  head 
and  looked  at  her.  He  should  never,  never  know. 

He  was  dreadfully  tired.  He  hated  to  walk,  any- 
way ;  and  he  was  soon  asleep. 

When  morning  came  she  was  still  curled  up  in  the 
chair,  and  she  had  been  awake  all  night.  It  was  the 
longest  night  that  she  had  ever  lived  through.  At 
the  end  of  it  some  of  her  joy  was  gone  and  some  of 
her  pride  was  broken.  She  understood  even  better 
what  it  means  to  forgive. 

And,  with  the  tears  on  her  cheeks,  she  had  decided 
that  she  would  not  have  another  headache. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HAROLD  had  decided  that  what  they  wanted 
was  a  cheap  furnished  apartment,  with  a  room 
outside  for  a  maid;  and  after  two  days  of  diligent 
searching  Kaleema  found  on  in  West  iO4th  Street. 

The  first  day  that  she  was  hunting  she  found  the 
rents  preposterously  high. 

"  And  for  nothing  but  a  hole  in  the  wall,"  she 
explained  to  Harold  at  night  when  she  met  him  for 
dinner. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Harold,  keeping  his  gaze  on  his 
plate,  "  that  you  might  have  better  luck  if  you  did  n't 
wear  the  earrings." 

Kaleema  stared  at  him ;  then  a  comical  expression 
crossed  her  pretty  lips  and  she  burst  out  laughing. 

"  My  conscience,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  're  a  won- 
der !  The  earrings  don't  go  with  a  marriage  license, 
you  mean  ?  "  She  propped  her  elbows  on  the  table 
and  tilted  her  chin  on  her  hands.  "  Say,  Harold, 
you  don't  know  it,  but  you  're  a  genius.  You 
have  n't  any  sense  about  stage-stuff,  but  uncon- 
sciously you  've  stumbled  on  the  psychology  of  make- 
up. It 's  a  big  wedding  ring  and  a  sad  expression 
that  the  janitors  treat  kindly.  Not  too  sad,  because 

123 


124  KALEEMA 

they  '11  think  that  every  morning  you  come  home 
with  a  skinful  and  scratch  up  the  door  trying  to  find 
the  key-hole.  Wait  till  I  get  made  up  for  to- 
morrow !  "  She  leaned  back  and  put  her  hands  on 
her  hips.  "  I  '11  leave  off  the  paint  and  the  earrings 
and  carry  me  left  glove  in  me  hand  and  wave  the 
ring  at  the  janitor's  nose,  and  perhaps  I  '11  go  to 
an  old  ladies'  home  and  rent  a  mother-in-law  to 
take  around  with  me.  They  ought  not  to  charge 
more  than  fifty  cents  a  day  for  the  use  of  her,  if 
she  's  returned  in  good  condition.  Awful,  though, 
if  she  tripped  on  a  pin  and  broke  one  of  her  brittle 
old  legs!" 

She  was  waving  her  left  hand  in  the  air  to  illus- 
trate her  intention,  and  three  waiters  were  apprecia- 
tively listening  to  her.  Harold  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing, though  he  hated  to  do  it ;  then  he  glowered  at  the 
waiters,  who  promptly  turned  their  backs  but  re- 
mained where  they  could  hear  everything. 

"  You  '11  see  us  all  settled  by  to-morrow  night, 
Harold  Barton,  everything  peaceful  and  in  order  as 
if  we  'd  lived  there  ten  years,  and  with  me  two  old 
trunks  out  of  storage  and  the  contents  scattered  all 
over  the  floor.  Gee !  it  '11  be  fun  to  get  into  those 
trunks.  I  've  got  some  fine  cowboy  stuff  —  pistols 
and  all  that  —  that  real  cowboys  gave  me  and  I  've 
used  in  melodrama,  and  it  '11  be  great  nailed  up  on 
the  wall  in  the  kitchen.  We  '11  keep  the  rest  of  the 
place  sort  of  decent  and  refined.  I  'm  goin'  to  quit 


KALEEMA  125 

readin'  the  'Clipper' — all  about  joinin'  on  wire, 
and  tellin'  all  in  first  letter,  and  how  much  do  you 
weigh,  and  how  many  teeth  of  his  own  did  your 
great  grandfather  have  when  he  was  buried;  and 
I  'm  goin'  to  begin  readin'  these  pretty  magazines 
all  about  houses,  with  pictures  how  they  should  look 
and  how  they  should  n't.  We  '11  fix  it  up  the  way 
I  always  thought  Camille  and  Lady  Windermere 
would  have  theirs  —  not  the  way  those  rummy  stage 
managers  are  satisfied  to  have  it,  with  red  plush 
furniture  with  the  stuffin's  fallin'  out  of  the  chairs 
and  sofas  and  hangin'  down  for  the  audience  to  look 
at.  It 's  no  use  to  bother  with  whiting  on  your 
neck  and  arms  and  good  clothes,  when  half  the  time 
there  are  n't  any  sides  to  the  scenery  and  the  com- 
pany is  standin'  there  makin'  faces  at  you,  and  the 
furniture  '.s  enough  to  make  Othello  die  laughin'. 
Imagine  sinkin'  languidly  on  a  chair  and  not  knowin' 
whether  it 's  goin'  to  hold  you  or  whether  you  're 
goin'  through  to  China.  I  've  worked  in  the  '  Mer- 
chant of  Venice  '  when  there  was  a  Navajo  blanket 
under  the  jewel-case  and  a  colonial  rag-rug  on  the 
floor.  And  then  they  expect  the  company  to  get 
atmosphere !  We  get  it  —  from  the  stage  hands 
after  the  show !  And  the  *  Clipper  '  says,  '  Played 
to  good  audience.'  Gawd,  how  that  thing  can  rave 
if  you  advertise." 

To  the  regret  of  the  waiters,  business  called  them 
away. 


126  KALEEMA 

The  next  morning,  before  Harold  was  dressed, 
she  was  in  a  Childs  restaurant  hastily  swallowing 
some  breakfast.  She  met  an  office-boy  from 
a  theatrical  agency  whom  she  recognized,  and  she 
recounted  to  him  her  recent  history.  He  was  quite 
civil  to  her  when  he  found  out  that  she  was  no  longer 
at  his  mercy.  He  even  wanted  to  know  if  her  hus- 
band could  give  him  a  better  job  —  more  money. 
"  Perhaps,"  she  said.  "  Anyway,  I  won't  forget 
you,"  and  then  to  herself,  "  No,  I  won't,  you  little 
beast." 

She  ran  down  the  subway  stairs  and  made  straight 
for  "  the  Hundreds."  She  looked  all  right  to-day, 
she  was  sure,  but  something  was  wrong.  The  first 
building  she  went  to  had  an  elevator,  and,  aside  from 
being  too  expensive,  the  elevator  boy  was  surrepti- 
tiously finishing  his  breakfast  and  was  haughty. 
She  decided  that,  in  her  haste,  she  was  too  early; 
so  she  retreated  to  a  drug  store  and  waited  half  an 
hour.  After  that  she  met  with  more  respectful  re- 
ceptions. Before  noon  she  had  found  the  place  she 
wanted.  She  unfortunately  called  it  a  flat,  and  the 
janitor's  wife,  who  was  showing  her  around,  cor- 
rected her.  Otherwise  the  janitor's  wife  was  very 
friendly,  for  evidently  this  lady  had  no  airs  and 
would  not  presume  on  a  person  if  she  came  into  the 
building.  It  was  n't  generally  known,  but  the  build- 
ing belonged  to  a  rich  man  who  had  a  furniture  store 
over  in  Third  Avenue,  who  when  he  wanted  to  get 


KALEEMA  127 

rid  of  some  of  the  stuff  he  was  tired  of  looking  at 
furnished  some  of  the  apartments.  In  that  way 
he  disposed  of  the  furniture  and  got  more  rent. 
And  furthermore,  the  janitor's  wife  hinted,  it  was 
not  generally  known,  but  just  the  same,  if  she 
liked  a  tenant  she  let  her  go  through  any  apartment 
that  might  be  vacant  and  help  herself  to  whatever 
small  pieces  she  wanted. 

Kaleema's  eyes  glistened.  That  would  be  as 
much  fun  as  buying  things,  she  reflected.  She  as- 
sured the  janitor's  wife  that  she  and  her  husband 
were  perfectly  honest  and  that  they  would  like 
to  move  in  before  night.  The  janitor's  wife  was 
not  accustomed  to  quite  that  degree  of  haste,  and  she 
intimated  something  about  references.  Kaleema 
gave  Harold's  business  address,  as  he  had  told  her 
to  do,  and  explained  their  hurry  by  the  fact  that 
they  were  at  an  uncomfortable  hotel. 

"  Bride,  are  n't  you  ?  "  suddenly  asked  the  janitor's 
wife. 

Kaleema  was  surprised ;  then  she  laughed. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said.  "  I  was  mar- 
ried last  week.  I  had  n't  thought  of  calling  myself 
that." 

The  janitor's  wife  gave  her  a  curious  look.  She 
did  not  doubt  her,  but  she  saw  that  she  was  unlike 
most  other  brides.  The  struggles  with  life  and  with 
Harold  had  robbed  her  of  that. 

Finally  it  was  agreed  that  Kaleema  should  go 


128  KALEEMA 

directly  to  the  agent  and  beg  him  to  do  his  best. 
She  went,  and  to  such  good  purpose  that  the  lease 
was  signed  shortly  before  six  o'clock.  She  had 
already  got  the  two  trunks  out  of  storage  and  had 
left  them  with  the  expressman.  After  the  agent's 
interview  with  Kaleema  he  was  inclined  to  have  his 
suspicions,  founded  chiefly  on  her  haste;  he  sent 
a  man  to  investigate  Harold,  and  the  office  was  so 
respectable  and  Harold  so  disagreeable  that  all 
doubts  as  to  his  being  responsible  were  quickly  re- 
moved. 

At  half -past  six  Harold  and  Kaleema  met  in  the 
flat.  Harold  would  not  take  the  time  to  go  and  look 
at  it  before  signing  the  lease,  so  of  course  he  was 
disappointed  and  heartsick  when  he  saw  it.  It  was 
so  different  from  the  Eighties,  East.  He  forgot  all 
about  the  difference  in  the  rent.  The  outside  and 
the  entrance  were  bad  enough,  with  the  imitation 
marble,  but  once  inside  his  own  door  he  stood  rooted 
in  the  tiny  hall.  Kaleema  was  watching  him  closely, 
and  she  saw  his  disappointment. 

"  Must  be  an  awful  respectable  place,"  she  ob- 
served, "  the  fuss  they  made  about  lettin'  us  in. 
Good  thing  they  looked  you  up  instead  of  me." 

"  That  would  sound  fine  to  a  stranger,"  exclaimed 
Harold. 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  talkin'  to  a  stranger,  am  I  ?  " 
she  answered.  "  What  do  you  suppose  they  would 
think  of  some  of  the  joints  I  've  lived  in  ?  "  Harold 


KALEEMA  129 

frowned.  '  The  furniture  here  now  is  a  fright,  but 
the  janitor's  wife  likes  me  already,  and  you  won't 
know  the  place  in  a  week.  And  I  'm  goin'  over  to 
the  store  itself  and  tell  the  man  how  homely  the 
furniture  is  for  his  swell  building." 

"  No,  you  don't,"  snapped  Harold,  but  when  he 
looked  at  her  he  saw  that  she  was  laughing  and  just 
talking  to  tease  him.  She  was  trying  to  make  him 
forget  for  a  moment  to  compare  things. 

"  Oh,  you  silly !  "  she  exclaimed,  seizing  his  hand 
and  kissing  it  and  pulling  him  on  into  the  apartment. 
"  I  know,  dear,"  she  added,  "  that  it  is  not  like  your 
old  home ;  but  there  may  be  some  things  in  the  world 
nearly  as  good  as  money." 

There  was  a  living-room,  with  ugly  lace  curtains 
at  the  windows,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  a 
mission  table;  there  were  a  cheap  leather-covered 
couch,  a  cigar  stand,  some  nameless  chairs,  a  desk 
and  a  hideous  brass  lamp,  a  dull  green  rug  and  three 
dreadful  pictures.  Next  to  it  was  the  bedroom. 
This  was  almost  pretty.  It  had  white  paint  and  pale 
blue  striped  paper  with  a  rose  border,  a  brass  bed 
(it  had  been  in  the  store  eleven  years)  and  white 
bureau,  chiffonier  and  chairs.  Back  of  the  living- 
room  was  the  dining-room.  It  had  an  oak  set  with 
many  bumps  and  claws. 

"  This  furniture  looks  as  if  it  had  muscular 
rheumatism,"  said  Kaleema  as  they  stood  in  the 
door.  "If  those  claws  ever  start  to  walk  away  with 


130  KALEEMA 

it,  I  '11  open  the  front  door  and  the  back  door  and  let 
it  go." 

Then  she  pushed  Harold  along  to  see  the  bath- 
room and  on  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Could  n't  swing  a  cat  by  the  tail  in  here,  but 
the  last  woman  left  a  prompt-book."  She  held  out 
a  greasy  cook-book  for  his  inspection.  "  I  spent 
two  dollars  in  carfares  and  telephones  getting  this 
place,  but  this  book  must  have  cost  that,  and  now 
we  '11  not  have  to  buy  one.  Really,  all  that  is 
needed  to  complete  the  whole  flat  is  a  piano  and  a 
corkscrew.  But  there  's  no  place  to  stand  the  piano, 
so  we'll  just  get  the  corkscrew." 

Harold  stood  looking  around,  his  hands  in  his 
overcoat  pockets.  Then  he  walked  back  into  the 
living-room.  He  looked  at  the  squatty  brass  lamp 
and  curiously  felt  the  leather  cover,  with  its  painted 
Indian,  that  was  spread  on  the  mission  table.  Still 
he  could  not  believe  that  this  was  his  home. 

As  they  expected  the  trunks  and  suitcases  any 
moment,  they  could  not  leave  the  apartment,  so 
Harold  went  out  and  got  some  sandwiches  and 
cookies,  and  they  ate  those  for  dinner.  Then  it  was 
ten  o'clock  before  the  expressman  came.  Harold 
was  tired  out  with  waiting,  and  Kaleema  seemed  to 
be  until  the  door-bell  rang.  Then  it  was  as  if  she 
had  heard  the  whistle  of  the  approaching  train  after 
a  long  night  wait  at  a  junction.  She  jumped  up 
and  opened  the  door,  turned  on  the  lights,  and  the 


KALEEMA  131 

next  minute  she  and  the  expressman  were  laughing 
over  the  problem  of  what  to  do  with  the  furniture 
so  that  the  three  trunks  could  be  got  inside  the  door. 
Harold  was  so  horrified  that  he  went  into  the  bed- 
room and  stayed  until  the  expressman  was  gone. 
When  quiet  was  restored  and  he  issued  forth,  he 
beheld  a  trunk  in  each  of  the  other  rooms.  The  suit- 
cases were  on  the  dining-room  table. 

"  Don't  worry  to-night,  dear,"  said  Kaleema. 
"  This  seemed  to  be  the  only  thing  to  do,  and  I 
promise  you  that  one  trunkful  of  rubbish  is  to  be 
thrown  away." 

Harold  let  it  go  at  that,  and  soon  he  was  in  bed. 
He  heard  her  pottering  around  and  knew  that  she 
had  already  unlocked  the  trunks. 

"  Coming,  'Leema  ?  "  he  called, 

"  After  a  while,"  she  answered.  But  it  was  four 
o'clock  the  next  morning  before  she  was  through. 

While  they  were  waiting  for  the  expressman  she 
had  planned  exactly  what  she  was  going  to  do; 
namely,  that  before  Harold  ever  entered  the  apart- 
ment again  some  of  its  ugliness  should  be  gone. 
That  night,  while  he  was  sleeping,  she  emptied  the 
three  trunks  and  refilled  to  overflowing  the  oldest 
one  with  the  stuff  that  was  to  be  thrown  away.  It 
took  her  a  long  time  to  do  it.  Nearly  everything 
that  she  picked  up,  smelling  of  grease  paint  and 
smeared  with  it,  too,  was  a  sort  of  treasure,  but 
finally  the  trunk  was  full  and  locked.  The  rest  of 


132  KALEEMA 

the  stuff  —  costumes,  wigs,  fans,  shoes,  poison  bot- 
tles, masques,  crowns  and  ropes  of  jewels,  old  parts, 
tights,  boots,  pistols,  powder,  rabbits'  feet,  boys' 
knickerbockers  and  artificial  flowers,  and  more  be- 
sides —  the  whole  lot,  she  threw  on  the  kitchen  floor 
and  closed  the  door  on  it.  She  meant  to  sort  that 
out  some  other  time.  Then  she  went  to  bed. 

As  soon  as  Harold  left  the  next  morning  she  had 
the  old  trunk  taken  away.  Then  she  went  down 
town,  drew  a  part  of  her  money,  and  did  some  shop- 
ping. 

When  Harold  came  home  that  night  he  again  stood 
in  the  tiny  hall  and  stared. 

Not  a  trunk  or  suitcase  was  in  sight;  and  the 
living-room  was  transformed. 

The  ugly  lace  curtains  were  down,  and  some  plain, 
sheer  ones  were  in  their  place ;  the  pictures  were  not 
on  the  wall,  and  the  brass  lamp  was  gone.  The  ugly 
desk  was  disguised  by  being  left  open  and  having  a 
dull  green  blotter,  that  matched  the  rug,  put  on  its 
lid,  with  ink,  paper,  and  pens.  The  mission  table 
had  been  pushed  over  so  that  it  hid  the  worst  of 
the  fireplace;  the  leather  cover  with  its  painted  In- 
dian was  gone  and  in  its  place  was  a  strip  of  beauti- 
ful dull  silk  that  the;  Gipsy  had  once  worn  for  a  sash. 
On  one  side  of  the  table  were  three  new  magazines, 
and  on  the  other  a  little  black  lacquer  ash  tray  and 
some  cigarettes.  Over  the  cheap-looking  near- 


KALEEMA  133 

leather  couch  was  thrown  a  huge  velvet  mantle  that 
Kaleema  had  worn  when  she  was  playing  the  queen 
oi  something,  and  it  luckily  had  faded  so  beautifully 
that  it  harmonized  perfectly  with  everything  in  the 
room.  It  was  tucked  neatly  in  at  the  back  so  that 
it  would  not  slip,  and  at  one  end  was  a  big  velvet 
cushion  that  the  same  queen  had  kneeled  on  when 
she  was  arguing  with  the  king  about  not  having  her 
head  cut  off.  The  worst  of  the  cigar-stand  was  hid- 
den by  a  large  fern.  Three  splendid  white  chrysan- 
themums were  in  a  dull  green  glass  vase  on  the 
window  sill,  and  above  them  hung  a  picturesque  wil- 
low cage  with  a  cheerful  canary  hopping  about  in- 
side. The  chairs  had  been  changed  and  were  quite 
plain. 

When  he  had  seen  this,  he  went  into  the  bedroom. 
It  looked  very  pretty.  White  covers  were  on  the 
bureau  and  chiffonier,  and  his  and  Kaleema's  toilet 
things  had  been  cleaned  and  put  in  place.  The  pretti- 
est of  her  pictures  and  keepsakes  were  put  around, 
and  here  and  there  was  a  touch  of  bright  color. 

Kaleema  was  not  in  sight,  and  he  turned  and  went 
back  toward  the  dining-room,  where  the  same  sheer 
curtains  were  at  the  windows  and  a  concoction  of 
lace  and  linen  and  a  fern  in  a  low  dish  moderated  the 
hideousness  of  the  rheumatic  table. 

When  Kaleema  heard  him  coming  she  opened  the 
kitchen-door  and  came  out,  closing  the  door  after 


134  KALEEMA 

her.  She  was  smiling  happily,  but  she  had  already 
learned  better  than  to  expect  anything  encouraging 
from  him. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  hugged  and  kissed 
her  very  enthusiastically. 

"  It  looks  fine,"  he  said.  "  You  must  have 
worked  like  everything." 

"  But  the  kitchen  is  a  fright  still,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing happily.  "  We  '11  simply  have  to  go  out  for 
dinner." 

Kaleema  put  her  hand  on  Harold's  shoulder, 
leaned  her  cheek  against  his  arm,  and  surveyed  with 
love  and  pride  the  result  of  her  day's  labors. 

"  There  's  a  woman  upstairs,"  she  said,  "  who  has 
always  wanted  that  lamp  and  the  Indian,  and  the 
janitor's  wife  traded  with  her  for  those  decent-look- 
ing chairs.  It  is  n't  exactly  the  boudoir  that  Ca- 
mille  would  fix  up  to  '  boude  '  in,  but  it 's  home." 

Home !  The  word  jarred  through  his  brain.  He 
pulled  himself  together  enough  to  bend  down  and 
kiss  her  hair  where  it  lay  against  her  forehead,  then 
he  turned  into  the  little  hall  to  take  off  his  overcoat. 
A  ghastly  smile  was  on  his  lips.  It  was  home,  and 
it  was  all  in  order  now  —  except  the  kitchen.  The 
mediocrity  and  definiteness  and  eternity  of  it  nearly 
suffocated  him.  He  arranged  his  hat  and  gloves 
and  shook  out  his  handkerchief  to  make  time  to  get 
control  of  himself.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
no  word  of  regret  or  complaint  should  ever  pass  his 


KALEEMA  135 

lips,  and  he  set  his  teeth  hard  upon  the  resolution. 

"  Put  on  your  things  and  we  will  hunt  up  a  res- 
taurant," he  said  kindly.  He  saw  how  bright  her 
eyes  were  and  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  hap- 
piness and  excitement. 

It  did  not  seem  to  enter  his  head  to  wonder  where 
she  got  the  money  to  pay  for  the  cage  and  the 
canary  and  the  curtains  and  flowers  and  other  things. 
Perhaps  he  thought  he  had  given  it  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  the  Barton  family  it  never  rained  but  it  poured. 
Mr.  Barton  was  usually  responsible  for  the  pour- 
ing. In  this  instance  he  certainly  was. 

He  insisted  that  the  rest  of  them  had  known  all 
about  Harold's  marriage  long  before  it  occurred,  and 
he  took  it  upon  himself  to  be  very  much  hurt  over 
it,  while  at  the  same  time  he  developed  an  insane 
jealousy  of  his  wife  and  a  college  friend  of  Lloyd's, 
from  Boston,  who  was  in  town  just  then  and  at  the 
apartment  a  great  deal.  He  wanted  to  talk  and 
complain  about  his  grievances,  and  it  hindered  and 
annoyed  him  to  have  a  stranger  around.  At  the 
bottom  of  it  all  he  was  intensely  curious  about 
Harold's  beautiful  wife,  and  he  thought  the  others 
were  purposely  not  telling  him  all  they  knew.  When- 
ever he  caught  the  family  alone,  he  took  advantage 
of  it.  On  these  occasions  Edna  and  Lloyd  would 
sit  in  contemptuous  silence  while  their  mother  did 
her  best  to  explain  things  and  pacify  him.  Gertrude, 
being  still  dependent  on  him  and  helpless,  would 
leave  the  room  in  a  vain  hope  that  she  might  escape 
his  resentment. 

He  went  back  to  his  old  threat  of  leaving  Mrs. 
Barton  and  giving  her  a  thousand  dollars  a  year  to 

136 


KALEEMA  137 

live  or  die  on.  He  did  not  say  much  about  Gertrude, 
but  he  hinted  ominously  that  many  modern  girls  were 
earning  their  own  living  and  relieving  their  fathers 
of  care  and  anxiety.  Mrs.  Barton  was  very  much 
worried,  though  she  tried  to  remind  herself  that  this 
had  often  happened  before  and  had  blown  over. 

During  that  first  wee.k  after  Harold  was  in  his 
own  apartment,  he  spent  every  possible  moment  of 
his  time  at  his  home  in  the  Eighties,  East.  He 
would  get  up  there  about  half -past  five  o'clock  and 
sit  in  his  mother's  room,  to  get  away  from  the 
others,  until  dinner  was  announced,  and  then  he 
would  straggle  up  to  io4th  Street.  He  did  not  talk 
very  much,  but  would  make  an  attempt  at  reading 
or  would  listen  to  his  mother's  anxieties  —  anything, 
it  seemed,  just  to  be  near  her. 

When  he  did  not  go  there  in  the  afternoon 
he  usually  went  in  the  evening.  The  first  day  he 
appeared  there  he  wrote  his  apartment  address  on  a 
slip  of  paper  and  pinned  it  to  the  pad  on  his  mother's 
desk,  and  he  put  his  telephone  number  on  the  tele- 
phone card.  But  he  evinced  no  intention  whatso- 
ever of  transferring  his  things.  On  the  contrary. 
He  had  always  been  orderly  about  his  room,  and 
after  he  had  fussed  around  in  there  for  a  few 
minutes  he  would  make  it  neat  before  he  took  his 
departure.  He  had  taken  away  only  a  couple  of 
suits  of  business  clothes  and  other  necessities,  but  not 
one  of  his  treasured  possessions. 


138  KALEEMA 

Gertrude  went  into  her  mother's  room  and  dis- 
covered him  on  his  first  appearance  there  since  he  had 
brought  Kaleema.  She  was  surprised.  She  stared 
at  him,  trying  to  read  his  composure. 

"Are  you  looking  for  an  apartment?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"  Not  now,"  he  replied.     "  We  're  in  one." 

"  In  one !  "  she  repeated  in  amazement.  "  Fur- 
nished?" 

"  Yes." 

"Servant?" 

"  Hardly  —  in  one  day." 

"  That 's  so.  I  don't  see  how  you  even  found 
the  apartment  so  soon.  Can  she  cook  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"Decent  apartment?" 

"  Oh,  it 's  all  right." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  One-hundred-and-fourth  Street." 

"  D'oes  your  wife  like  it?  " 

"  She  seems  to." 

"  Well,  for  heaven's  sake,  why  don't  you  talk  and 
tell  me  something?" 

"Well,  what  shall  I  say?" 

"  I  should  think  there  would  be  a  lot  of  things  to 
say." 

Harold  opened  the  magazine  he  held  and  began 
reading,  and  Mrs.  Barton  shook  her  head  at  Ger- 


KALEEMA  139 

trude.  Mrs.  Barton  herself  had  never  asked  him  a 
single  question.  Gertrude  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  went  out  of  the  room. 

On  his  third  visit  the  family  looked  inquiringly 
at  one  another  as  the  door  closed  behind  him  five 
minutes  before  dinner  was  served. 

Edna  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  put  her  chin 
in  the  air  and  looked  very  wise. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  is  married  to  her,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  said  Lloyd,  putting  down  the  stub 
of  his  cigarette  and  walking  across  the  room. 
"  That 's  what  ails  him."  He  went  over  and 
squared  himself  before  his  mother.  "  What  does 
he  say  to  you,  mum?"  he  asked,  as  if  defying  her 
to  keep  anything  from  them. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Mrs.  Barton. 

"Really?" 

"  Really." 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it  ?  "  asked  Edna. 

"  That  he  is  like  a  poor,  foolish  fish  out  of  water," 
answered  Mrs.  Barton. 

"  Don't  you  ever  ask  him  any  questions  ?  "  said 
Gertrude. 

"  No." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Don't  you  think  some  of  us  should  ?  " 

"No." 


i4o  KALEEMA 

"  I  think  it  would  be  easier  for  him  if  we  did." 

"  He  got  into  it  without  our  assistance,  did  n't 
he?" 

"Yes,"  admitted  Gertrude. 

"  Then  let  him  get  out  of  it  the  same  way." 

It  was  easy  to  see  what  stand  she  had  taken.  For 
a  moment  there  was  silence. 

"Are  you  ever  going  to  see  her?"  asked  Ger- 
trude. 

"  Yes,  very  soon,"  replied  her  mother. 

"  Hoping  that  she  will  not  be  at  home  ?  "  said 
Edna. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Mrs.  Barton.  "  I  shall  tele- 
phone first.  Harold  shall  never  be  able  to  complain 
of  the  way  his  mother  has  treated  his  wife." 

"  That 's  sensible,"  said  Lloyd. 

"  So  you  have  made  up  your  mind?  "  said  Edna. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Barton. 

Gertrude  had  made  up  her  mind,  too.  Only  she 
was  n't  talking  about  it. 

"  He  will  stay  with  her  just  about  six'  months," 
said  Lloyd. 

The  maid  announced  dinner,  and  that  Mr.  Barton 
had  just  rung  and  said  he  wished  to  be  excused. 

Without  a  word  Mrs.  Barton  rose,  went  to  his 
door,  tapped  and  went  in.  A  look  of  unspeakable 
boredom  was  on  the  faces  of  those  she  left  behind. 

"Aren't  you  feeling  well,  Joe?"  she  asked,  as 
she  went  to  him. 


KALEEMA  141 

He  did  not  answer.  He  sat  with  his  hands 
clasped  in  his  lap,  his  loose  lips  moving.  In  his 
button-hole  was  the  red  carnation. 

She  put  one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  the  other  on  the 
arm  of  his  chair  and  bent  over  him.  That  was 
what  made  the  children  shudder.  It  would  not  have 
been  so  hard  if  she  were  not  so  young-looking  and 
pretty.  He  began  twisting  his  waxed  mustache. 

"  Aren't  you  feeling  well,  Joe?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,  I  feel  well." 

"Then  what  is  it?  Has  something  gone 
wrong?  " 

Again  he  did  not  answer. 

She  pulled  up  the  little  rocking  chair  and  sat  down. 

For  perhaps  a  minute  she  did  not  speak. 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  what  has  happened  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  You  must  think,  Nellie,  that  it  is  very  pleasant 
for  me  having  that  Boston  man  around,"  he  said. 

She  had  known  all  the  time  that  that  was  his 
grievance.  Now  that  he  had  condescended  to  men- 
tion it,  the  atmosphere  could  be  cleared. 

"  That  boy !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I,  a  woman  fifty- 
six  years  old  and  he  the  age  of  my  son?  Dear,  that 
is  n't  sensible !  Now  is  it,  my  dear  boy  ?  "  At  this 
point  her  hand  began  patting  his  sharp  knee,  "  Just 
because  he  treats  me  politely  —  as  if  I  were  his 
mother.  It 's  ridiculous,  perfectly  ridiculous ! 
How  do  you  ever  get  such  things  in  your  mind  ?  " 


142  KALEEMA 

"  You  need  n't  talk  to  him,"  he  interrupted. 

"  Certainly  I  must  be  nice  to  him.  Have  n't  I 
always  been  nice  to  the  children's  friends?  My  dear 
boy,  you  never  acted  like  this  before!"  (But  he 
had,  often.)  "  Come,  now,  to  dinner,  and  forget  it. 
This  is  so  ridiculous  —  when  I  have  never  thought 
of  anybody  but  you  in  all  these  thirty-two  years." 

"  You  must  realize  that  it  is  very  humiliating  to 
me,  Nellie,"  he  harped. 

"  Fifty-six  years  old,  and  he  the  age  of  my  own 
son !  "  she  reiterated.  "  Come,  now ;  the  dinner  is 
getting  cold.  Nobody  here  but  the  children." 

She  patted  his  knee  and  rose.  Still  he  sat  there 
sulking,  and  still  she  coaxed  and  argued  and  con- 
soled, until  finally  he  got  up  and  followed  her. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AS  Mrs.  Barton  had  admitted,  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  about  her  attitude  toward  Harold's 
wife.  In  pursuance  of  her  determination,  she  tele- 
phoned about  noon  on  the  last  day  of  that  week  to 
tell  Kaleema  that  she  was  coming  to  see  her  if  she 
would  be  at  home  in  the  afternoon. 

Kaleema  spent  the  intervening  time  in  a  state  of 
smothered  agitation.  A  servant  had  been  obtained, 
but  had  left  on  the  second  day  after  her  arrival.  A 
trunk  for  her  to  stumble  over  in  the  small  kitchen 
and  Harold's  coming  home  for  an  eight  o'clock  din- 
ner got  on  her  nerves.  So  Kaleema  had  got  out 
the  abandoned  cook-book  and  gone  to  work.  The 
dinners  she  cooked  were  very  good,  for  she  followed 
the  directions  accurately  and  intelligently,  as  she 
went  about  stage  business. 

She  had  already  packed  one  trunk  with  treasures 
and  sent  it  down  to  the  store-room,  and  the  one  left 
in  the  kitchen  was  full  of  things  to  be  cleaned  or 
made  over  and  used.  After  the  cook  left,  she  had 
bought  eight  magazines  about  housekeeping  and 
dressmaking,  and  during  the  day  the  kitchen  was  a 
sight  to  behold  as  a  result  of  her  activities.  After 
Harold  left  in  the  morning  she  got  to  work,  and  she 


144  KALEEMA 

did  not  put  things  in  order  again  until  it  was  nearly 
time  for  him  to  come  home.  Then,  of  course,  one 
day  he  came  home  right  from  the  office  and  found 
the  trunk  open  and  things  in  a  mess  and  her  battered 
old  make-up  box  standing  on  the  kitchen  table. 

"  I  wish  you  would  throw  that  junk  away,"  he 
said.  "  I  don't  want  to  see  any  show  stuff  again 
as  long  as  I  live." 

He  took  off  his  overcoat  and  walked  away.  Ka- 
leema  suppressed  a  smile,  threw  things  back  into  the 
trunk  and  went  about  the  dinner. 

That  day,  half  an  hour  after  Mrs.  Barton  tele- 
phoned, everything  was  where  it  belonged.  She 
threw  away  the  old  chrysanthemums  and  hurried 
out  and  bought  fresh  ones;  then  she  dressed  with 
great  care  and  when  that  was  safely  done,  put  on 
a  great  all-over  apron  and  dusted  the  whole  flat. 

She  hoped  and  prayed  that  Mrs.  Barton  would 
come  alone.  After  that  first  meeting  she  had  a  dis- 
tinct impression  of  each  member  of  the  family,  just 
as  she  always  had  of  a  new  company  after  a  first 
rehearsal,  and  she  knew  that  criticism  was  uppermost 
in  their  minds.  She  fervently  hoped  that  she  need 
never  set  eyes  on  any  of  them  again,  all  the  time 
knowing  that  she  must  see  Mrs.  Barton,  at  least. 
Probably  the  others  would  remain  in  the  mist  which 
had  heretofore  shrouded  them. 

At  4:15  Mrs.  Barton  arrived  alone,  and  remained 
half  an  hour.  She  was  very  kind,  admiring  the  little 


KALEEMA  145 

details  of  pleasant  coziness  in  the  apartment,  talking 
about  housekeeping,  and  advising  her  hostess  of  the 
best  ways  to  get  a  maid.  She  did  not  once  mention 
Harold.  Indeed,  all  personalities  were  quite  omitted 
from  the  conversation.  Kaleema  spoke  once  of 
Harold,  but  immediately  felt  that  Mrs.  Barton  pre- 
ferred not  to  include  him  in  their  conversation. 

When  she  left,  Kaleema  was  puzzled.  The  first 
thing  she  did  was  to  take  a  look  in  a  mirror;  then 
she  surveyed  the  apartment;  then  she  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  living-room  trying  to  convince  herself 
that  Mrs.  Barton  had  been  very  agreeable. 

Harold  came  home  early  that  night,  and  she  told 
him  about  his  mother's  call  and  how  nice  she  was 
and  all  the  pleasant  things  she  had  said.  He  made 
no  comment,  but  she  did  not  expect  he  would.  She 
had  given  up  talking  to  him  and  simply  talked  at 
him,  laughing  and  rambling  on  as  she  had  used  to 
with  people  who  were  more  responsive.  After  din- 
ner he  said  he  must  go  out  for  a  little  while  to  "  at- 
tend to  something."  When  he  reached  the  apartment 
in  the  Eighties  his  mother  at  once  told  him  that  she 
had  been  to  see  his  wife  and  thought  her  a  very  nice, 
likable  girl,  and  that  his  home  was  very  pretty. 
Harold  said  nothing,  but  he  went  home  earlier  than 
usual. 

When  he  arrived  he  found  Kaleema  cutting  out 
something  from  a  pattern.  He  laughed  at  her  dress- 
making, and  then  he  took  the  scissors  away  from 


146  KALEEMA 

her  and  pulled  her  down  on  the  couch  beside  him. 
He  kissed  her  lips  and  eyes  and  pretended  to  bite 
her  ears;  he  took  the  hairpins  out  of  her  hair  and 
shook  it  down  over  her  shoulders,  rumpled  it  up  and 
buried  his  face  in  it.  Kaleema  was  biting  her  lips, 
trying  to  get  them  steady  enough  to  say  something. 
She  took  his  beloved  head  in  her  hands  and  held  it 
in  her  neck  so  that  he  could  not  look  at  her. 

"  Some  way,"  she  said,  "  since  your  mother  came 
here  I  feel  more  as  if  we  —  were  married." 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes  in  spite  of  her. 
That  was  such  an  exasperating  habit  of  hers.  She 
held  his  head  close  so  that  he  should  not  discover 
them.  Her  heart  was  aching  to  have  him  say  just 
the  right  thing. 

"  Nonsense,"  came  in  his  muffled  voice. 

"  I  mean  it,"  she  said.  "  It  seems  sort  of  queer. 
You  never  scold  about  anything,  and  you  don't  talk 
and  you  never  clutter  up  the  flat." 
•  She  did  not  sound  quite  through,  but  she  ceased 
speaking.  That  was  all  that  she  could  bring  herself 
to  say.  The  little  close,  common,  everyday  things 
that  were  lacking  she  could  not  name.  She  tried  to 
blame  herself,  too,  for  being  strange,  but  she  could 
not  conquer  her  feeling. 

"  Then  I  '11  rave  and  tear  around,"  he  said. 

Her  answer  was  a  little  laugh.     Then  he  went  on. 

"  And  you  never  —  seem  to  —  quite  —  forget 
everything,  either,"  he  said. 


KALEEMA  147 

"  I  want  to,  though,"  she  whispered.  "  I  want 
to."  She  let  him  put  her  head  back  and  look  at  her. 
After  all,  she  was  not  just  his  mistress. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DURING  the  next  week  two  unexpected  things 
happened.     A  maid  came  and  remained,  in 
spite  of  the  trunk,  and  on  Friday  afternoon  Ger- 
trude Barton  appeared. 

Moreover,  Harold  stayed  at  home  more.  He  did 
not  bring  any  of  his  things  from  his  old  home,  but 
he  behaved  a  little  less  like  a  transient  in  iO4th  Street. 
Not  one  act  or  word  of  it  was  lost  on  Kaleema. 
It  made  her  intensely  happy,  but  she  said  nothing 
because  she  knew  too  well  his  boyish  contrariness. 
For  a  day  or  two  they  had  a  little  fun  together, 
reminiscent  of  the  times  of  the  hurdy-gurdy  and 
the  escaped  monkey  —  the  short  time  before  he 
began  to  want  her  and  to  make  her  miserable.  She 
suddenly  grew  more  beautiful  than  ever  before,  and 
Harold  saw  it.  He  acknowledged  to  himself  that 
the  flat  was  pretty,  too,  and  that  she  was  a  good 
housekeeper.  Kaleema  hurried  downtown  to  the 
bank  and  drew  out  more  of  her  money,  and  took 
some  old  things  to  the  clever  but  obscure  little  dress- 
maker who  formerly  had  made  the  best  of  her  stage 
clothes.  The  nervous  clutch  had  left  her  heart  and 
brain.  If  there  was  any  of  the  undercurrent  now, 
she  was  too  happy  to  know  it. 

148 


KALEEMA  149 

She  was  boundlessly  happy  —  with  the  happiness 
that  her  whole  nature  had  dreamed  of  and  cried  for. 
She  no  longer  felt  strange  and  guilty  when  she  made 
herself  look  her  prettiest  and  waited  to  hear  his  key 
in  the  door.  Now  he  was  happy,  she  believed,  and 
their  life  could  be  lived  without  fear.  Often  when 
she  was  alone  she  would  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes 
and  remember  that  the  time  had  come  when  she  could 
forget.  And  Harold  could  forget,  too,  thank  God  : 
that  was  the  best. 

But  the  undercurrent  was  there.  Two  or  three 
times  he  caught  sight  of  some  of  the  old  things  which 
had  surrounded  her  before  they  were  married  and 
which  he  had  so  often  seen  in  her  room  in  the  cheap 
boarding-house  or  in  her  dressing-room  when  he 
went  to  her  on  the  road.  He  came  across  a  rabbit's 
foot,  her  make-up  lights  and  some  photographs  of  her 
friends.  He  hated  the  sight  of  them.  There  was 
the  shabby,  dissipated-looking  man,  Sarah  and 
Godiva  —  others  that  he  had  only  seen  and  a  lot 
whom  he  did  not  know  at  all. 

One  night  as  he  came  in  he  Heard  her  singing 
in  the  bedroom,  and  when  he  went  to  the  door  he 
found  her  before  the  mirror,  grease  paint  in  each 
hand,  making  up  her  eyes.  When  she  saw  him  she 
dodged  into  the  closet,  laughing,  but  he  pulled  her 
out  and  looked  at  her.  It  was  very  manifest  that  he 
was  angry. 

"  I  was  doin'  it  just  for  fun,  Harold,"  she  ex- 


150  KALEEMA 

plained,  "  to  see  if  I  had  forgotten  how  to  do  both 
eyes  at  the  same  time." 

He  walked  out  of  the  room  and  she  smothered 
her  laughter  in  a  towel  and  began  rubbing  the  make- 
up off.  But  his  annoyance  had  the  best  of  him,  and 
in  a  moment  he  was  back  and  stood  in  the  doorway, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  wish,  Kaleema,"  he  said,  "  that  you  would 
throw  away  that  trunk." 

She  stopped  rubbing  and  stared  at  him,  the  towel 
in  mid-air  and  her  eyes  smeared  with  black  paint. 

"Which  trunk?" 

"  That  one  in  the  kitchen." 

"  My  Gawd,"  she  said  slowly.  "  A  perfectly  good 
guaranteed  fiber  trunk.  Say,  Harold,  are  you 
crazy?  Just  between  ourselves,  are  you  crazy?  " 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away,  and  she 
turned  back  to  the  mirror,  and  between  the  look  of 
disgust  on  his  face  and  the  smear  of  black  paint 
on  her  own,  it  was  too  much  for  her  and  she  burst 
out  laughing. 

Then  the  next  instant  she  was  seized  by  a  sicken- 
ing regret.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  always 
doing  the  wrong  thing.  She  was  always  laughing 
when  she  should  not.  And  life  had  been  different 
lately,  and  she  so  much  happier. 

She  quickly  cleaned  her  face  and  went  into  the 
living-room  where  he  was  reading  a  newspaper, 
leaned  over  the  back  of  his  chair  and  kissed  him. 


KALEEMA  151 

He  continued  reading,  and  she  put  her  hand  over 
his  eyes  and  kissed  him  again  and  held  his  head 
close  to  her.  He  did  not  speak  or  move.  The 
kisses  meant  nothing  to  him.  Not  even  the 
warmth  of  her  neck  against  his  face  brought  any 
memories. 

"  Is  it  very  cold  out,  and  are  you  tired  to-night?  " 
she  said. 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  replied. 

She  turned  to  the  pretty  willow  cage  and  began 
playing  with  the  canary.  She  should  have  been 
more  careful.  But  why  must  all  the  happiness  be 
forgotten  ? 

That  evening  he  went  out  alone  after  dinner. 

The  next  night  he  left  for  Pittsburgh  to  see 
Norman  Thomas  on  business.  Several  of  the 
Thomas  investments  had  come  into  the  office 
through  him  and  the  firm  trusted  him  very  largely 
to  look  after  them.  It  meant  a  great  deal  to  him, 
both  in  the  office  and  with  Mr.  Thomas. 

Norman  Thomas  was  a  powerful  and  wealthy 
man;  the  families  had  always  been  friends,  and  he 
had  liked  Harold  from  the  time  when  he  was  a  young 
boy,  and  Harold  and  Anne  had  played  together. 
Now  he  liked  him  even  better,  for  he  had  turned  out 
to  be  a  clear-cut  sort  of  fellow  who  knew  his  busi- 
ness and  attended  to  it.  Harold  realized  this,  and 
was  doing  his  best  to  keep  the  respect  and  confidence 
of  this  important  man. 


152  KALEEMA 

Friday  afternoon  the  bell  rang,  and  when  the  maid 
opened  the  door  Gertrude  Barton  walked  in. 

Kaleema  was  sewing,  struggling  with  a  dress  that 
had  just  come  home  from  the  dressmaker  and  was 
all  wrong.  The  flat  was  in  disorder,  and  her  heart 
skipped  three  beats  when  Gertrude  appeared. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  at  home,"  said  Gertrude. 
"  I  did  not  telephone  because  it  might  have  put  you 
to  some  bother  if  you  intended  going  out.  What  a 
sweet  little  place!  Oh,  the  bird  cage  and  the 
canary!  Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"  Just  bought  it  —  at  Macy's." 

"  Is  n't  it  sweet !  Do  you  care  if  I  get  one  just 
like  it  ?  "  She  stood  gazing  in  rapture  at  the  bird. 

"  Certainly  not,"  laughed  Kaleema.  "  I  'm  so 
glad  you  like  it."  She  stood  staring  at  Gertrude's 
back. 

"  Don't  let  me  hinder  you.  What  are  you  do- 
ing?" 

Kaleema  explained.  Gertrude  wheeled  around 
and  investigated  the  difficulty. 

"  And  it 's  a  perfectly  beautiful  dress,"  she  ex- 
claimed, holding  it  up  for  inspection. 

"  Two  old  ones  put  together,"  said  Kaleema,  very 
meekly. 

"  No ! "  ejaculated  Gertrude,  sinking  on  a  chair 
and  staring  round-eyed  at  Kaleema.  "  Well,  you  're 
not  fixing  it  right.  Give  me  a  needle."  She  took 
off  her  hat  and  threaded  the  needle.  Here  was  some- 


KALEEMA  153 

thing  quite  different  from  what  Kaleema  expected. 
''Your  dressmaker  must  be  perfectly  wonderful!" 
Gertrude  said.  Her  surprise  was  very  flattering. 

"  She  is  just  a  cheap  one,"  said  Kaleema. 

"  Would  it  be  awful  if  I  asked  you  for  her  ad- 
dress ?  "  inquired  Gertrude. 

Kaleema  laughed  outright.  "  Of  course  not,"  she 
said.  This  was  the  first  intimation  she  had  had  that 
the  Bartons  could  be  what  she  called  human.  She 
wrote  down  the  address,  and  the  next  moment  she 
herself  was  talking  at  random.  "  I  went  over  all 
my  old  stuff  and  what  was  n't  worth  fixing  over  into 
something  decent,  I  've  thrown  away.  Here  's  the 
address,  but  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  be  shocked  at  her 
place." 

"  Never  mind,  if  she  's  only  cheap,"  said  Gertrude. 
"  Yes,  it 's  an  awful  neighborhood,  but  she  's  a  won- 
der. You  are  awfully  nice.  Some  people  won't  tell 
a  thing  about  their  dressmakers.  I  can't  understand 
it.  I  think  it's  mean  and  cranky."  Kaleema 
agreed  with  her;  and  Gertrude  put  the  slip  of  paper 
in  her  purse  and  went  on  sewing.  Kaleema  stood 
watching  her,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  "If  you 
will  rip  this,  the  whole  thing  will  be  finished  and 
hung  up  before  I  go  home,"  Gertrude  suggested. 

Kaleema  pulled  up  a  chair  and  began  to  rip. 

"  Other  things  nearly  finished  ?  "  asked  Gertrude. 

"All  but  one  waist,  and  I  shall  finish  that  to- 
morrow," she  replied. 


154  KALEEMA 

"  May  I  see  them  before  I  go?  " 

"  Of  course.  They  're  all  thrown  into  my  trunk. 
Everything  in  it  is  in  order,  though.  ...  I  don't 
know  why,  but  Harold  hates  that  trunk." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  commented  Gertrude. 
"  Those  two  boys  are  awfully  spoiled.  I  pity  their 
wives.  And  Arthur  Haydn  has  found  out  already 
that  he  is  going  to  have  his  hands  full." 

Kaleema  looked  at  her  from  the  corner  of  her 
eye,  but  said  nothing.  She  was  just  beginning  to 
get  her  wits  together.  She  had  not  supposed  that 
Gertrude  was  so  different  from  the  rest  of  the 
family.  But  Gertrude  did  not  leave  much  time  for 
reflection.  She  talked  almost  incessantly;  person- 
alities, too.  For  the  first  time  there  seemed  to  be 
something  real  about  the  Bartons.  Soon  she 
branched  off  to  social  service. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  settlement  work?  " 
she  asked. 

"  You  mean  —  slums  ?  "  said  Kaleema. 

"  Yes.  That  is,  trying  to  make  them  less 
slummy." 

"  I  Ve  read  about  them  in  magazines,"  said 
Kaleema. 

"  Come  over  and  help  us  at  the  settlement  where 
I  go.  The  neighborhood  is  horribly  overcrowded 
and  the  people  are  so  discouraging.  Some  of  them 
are  dope-fiends  and  most  of  them  drink  and  they 


KALEEMA  155 

are  all  desperately  poor  and  usually  tell  lies.  Don't 
you  want  to  come  and  help  ?  " 

"  Have  you  ever  noticed  that  you  improved  any 
of  them  ?  "  asked  Kaleema. 

"  No,  I  can't  say  that  I  have,"  admitted  Gertrude. 
"  But  if  they  do  improve  they  move  into  a  better 
neighborhood  and  some  more  messy  ones  take  their 
place." 

"  Then  why  do  you  bother  with  them  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it 's  just  to  patch  up  my  own  con- 
science," said  Gertrude.  "  I  have  often  wondered 
about  that  myself." 

"  And  after  you  have  been  seeing  that  terrible 
misery  all  day,"  said  Kaleema,  "  you  go  home  hating 
yourself  because  you  have  enough  to  eat  and  steam 
heat  and  a  clean  bed  to  sleep  in.  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Gertrude,  "  that  is  just  exactly  what 
I  do." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Kaleema.  "  That 's  what  you 
pay  for  being  foolish  enough  to  get  born  with  a  heart 
in  you." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Gertrude. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me  the  how  or  the  why  or  the 
because  of  anything,"  answered  Kaleema.  "  All  I 
know  is  that  I  never  yet  felt  hopeless  or  rebellious 
myself  that  I  did  n't  see  —  right  on  the  street  — 
something  so  terrible  that  I  was  sickened  by  my 
ingratitude." 


156  KALEEMA 

"What  —  what  kind  of  a  something?"  ventured 
Gertrude  curiously. 

Kaleema  glanced  at  her,  then  back  at  her  work. 
"  Oh,  sometimes  just  a  face,  with  the  punishment  of 
living  in  its  eyes."  She  was  careful  of  what  she 
said.  Gertrude's  clothes  were  so  smart  and  her  gaze 
was  so  wide. 

Gertrude  felt  her  caution.  "  Don't  you  want  to 
come  and  help  ?  "  she  persisted. 

For  a  moment  Kaleema  was  silent.  "  But  what 
could  I  do?  I  've  seen  so  much  misery  all  my  life, 
I  'm  afraid  of  more,"  she  said  finally. 

"  Perhaps  you  could  do  a  great  deal  just  because 
you  could  understand." 

Kaleema  bit  her  lips.  "  Nobody  can  help  them," 
she  said,  "  when  they  are  once  down."  She  did 
not  want  to  refuse  and  she  did  not  want  to  go.  The 
little  apartment  was  her  heaven,  and  she  was  so 
ravenous  for  its  happiness  that  she  wanted  not  to 
let  a  thought  or  memory  of  misery  come  in. 

"  Yes,  we  can  help  them,"  insisted  Gertrude. 
"  Anyway  we  should  do  the  best  we  can." 

"  And  that 's  not  much,  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Ka- 
leema. "  We  can't  create  work  for  them,  and  some 
of  them  would  not  get  out  of  their  condition  if  they 
could." 

"  That 's  because  they  're  so  much  like  children." 

"  You  don't  know,"  said  Kaleema. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Gertrude,  "  but  if  they  were 


KALEEMA  157 

as  wise  as  we  are  they  would  n't  be  where  they  are. 
And  then  there  are  the  children." 

"  Yes,"  said  Kaleema,  harshly  and  bitterly,  "  the 
children  —  the  devil's  revenge." 

Gertrude  stared  at  her.  "  You  —  don't  like 
them?" 

Kaleema  was  breathing  quicker.  "  They  make 
me  shudder,"  she  said.  In  her  ears  was  ringing  the 
memory  of  the  whippings  of  the  Giniven  child. 

"  Oh,"  said  Gertrude  slowly,  "  you  don't  want 
any  of  your  own?" 

Kaleema's  lips  were  white.  "  More  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world,"  she  answered. 

"Then  why  —  ?"  Gertrude  stared,  puzzled,  but 
Kaleema  hurried  on. 

"  Because  I  have  nothing  to  give  them,  and  be- 
cause, when  I  have  suffered  —  failure,  misery,  and 
.  .  .  and  all  —  I  have  blamed  my  mother  so  bitterly 
for  getting  me  here.  She  should  not  have  forced 
life  on  me.  It  is  wrong  —  wrong.  Earth  can  be 
such  hell.  And  she  knew  it.  I  could  n't  bear  to 
look  at  a  child  of  mine.  God  only  knows  how  they 
suffer  —  and  yet  are  afraid  to  die!  " 

Gertrude  was  silent.  There  was  something  in 
Kaleema's  face  that  kept  her  so.  The  next  instant 
Kaleema  was  ashamed  of  having  spoken. 

"  I  should  n't  say  such  things  —  to  you,"  she  said. 

"  Perhaps  I  understand  more  than  you  think," 
answered  Gertrude.  She  was  remembering  her 


158  KALEEMA 

father's  threats  and  the  nights  that  she  had  lain 
awake  wondering  when  the  crash  would  come  and 
how  much  money  she  could  earn  and  what  work 
she  could  do.  "  How  about  blaming  your  father, 
too  ?  "  she  suggested. 

"  Would  if  I  ever  thought  of  him,"  Kaleema  an- 
swered. "  Trust  me  for  blaming  the  whole  bunch 
of  them  —  even  God." 

For  a  few  moments  they  were  silent.  Finally 
Kaleema  spoke. 

"  I  should  be  satisfied,"  said  Kaleema,  "  if  I  could 
help  just  one  —  just  one." 

In  her  voice  there  was  an  intense  longing.  Ger- 
trude wanted  to  look  at  her  but  did  not  dare. 

"  You  will,  sometime,"  she  answered. 

Kaleema  did  not  reply.     Presently  she  went  on : 

"  It  must  be  horrible  to  see  —  some  of  those  peo- 
ple in  their  ignorance  and  helplessness  suffering  for 
the  cruelty  and  stupidity  and  vileness  of  the  others. 
There  's  no  power  that  gives  the  grown  ones  justice 
and  they  take  their  spite  out  on  the  children,  and 
often  the  children  get  frightfully  burned  and  maimed 
and  ill-treated,  and  their  fathers  and  mothers  beat 
and  torture  them  —  God !  why  does  n't  somebody 
kill  them?" 

She  gave  a  short,  hard  laugh  and  shut  her  eyes 
as  if  to  keep  out  the  horror.  Gertrude  shuddered. 
She  looked  at  her  and  saw  that  her  lips  were  white- 
Kaleema  continued: 


KALEEMA  159 

"  You  can  go  just  so  far  to  help  them  and  then 
the  law  stops  you,  does  n't  it?  " 

"  Not  always,"  protested  Gertrude. 

Kaleema  closed  her  lips  tight,  Gertrude  thought 
to  keep  them  from  twisting  in  the  agony  of  mem- 
ories. What  else  was  in  her  mind  Gertrude  never 
knew,  for  she  put  down  tfye  scissors  and  shook  out 
the  dress,  perhaps  to  keep  her  nervous  hands  from 
clasping. 

"  Well  —  I  '11  go  with  you,  and  do  my  best. 
There,  is  n't  this  done  ?  I  can  never  thank  you 
enough  for  the  way  you  have  helped  me  to-day." 

"  Just  let  me  help  you  again,"  Gertrude  answered. 
"  I  love  to  sew." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Kaleema,  going  to  hang  up  the 
dress. 

Then  she  took  Gertrude  to  the  trunk  and  began 
pulling  out  the  things.  Gertrude  admired  every- 
thing, and  it  was  after  five  o'clock  when  she  went 
home.  Just  as  she  was  leaving  she  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment at  the  door.  Kaleema  felt  that  there  was  some- 
thing that  she  was  trying  to  get  up  the  courage  to 
say.  Finally  she  said  it. 

"  Would  you  just  as  soon,"  she  began,  "  tell  me 
what  your  name  was  before  you  married  Harold  ?  " 

"  It  was  West  —  Kaleema  West,"  said  Kaleema. 

"  And  you  always  will  be  Kaleema  West,  just 
yourself,  won't  you?  No  marriage  can  change 
you." 


160  KALEEMA 

Kaleema  stared  at  her,  wondering  how  she  knew. 
Then  Gertrude  went  out  and  closed  the  door. 

It  was  agreed  between  them  that  some  day  the 
next  week  she  should  come  again. 

Harold  got  back  to  town  Saturday  morning.  He 
went  directly  to  the  office,  and  from  there,  early  in 
the  afternoon,  he  went  to  the  Eighties,  East. 

He  was  thankful  to  find  his  mother  alone.  Leav- 
ing his  suitcase  in  the  hall,  he  went  into  her  room. 
He  had  not  been  there  five  minutes  when  she  knew 
that  there  was  a  strain.  Not  one  look  or  action 
of  his  in  her  presence  ever  escaped  her.  She  had 
always  cherished  such  high  hopes  for  him  that  she 
considered  his  hopeless  marriage  had  nearly  broken 
her  heart.  But  she  never  said  so.  She  was  just 
waiting. 

"Did  you  have  a  successful  trip?"  she  asked, 
when  he  came  in. 

"  Yes,  very,"  he  replied.  "  Business  could  n't 
have  turned  out  better.  Mr.  Thomas  was  perfectly 
satisfied." 

He  had  sat  down,  but  he  got  up  again  and,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  began  alternately  looking  out 
the  windows  and  walking  about  the  room.  Though 
he  tried  to  make  his  words  calm,  she  saw  the  ten- 
sion in  his  face. 

"  Did  you  go  up  to  the  house?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  Did  you  see  Mrs.  Thomas  and  Anne  ?  " 


KALEEMA  161 

"  Yes." 

"  Anne  as  pretty  as  ever?  " 

"  I  suppose  so/' 

His  mother  smiled  indulgently.  She  did  love  her 
tall  boy. 

"  Is  she  still  in  love  with  you?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  ever  was." 

Mrs.  Barton  laughed.  "  She  ought  to  have  been, 
anyway." 

Harold  did  not  even  smile. 

"  Where  are  they  going  this  summer?  " 

"  To  California." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence. 

"  Did  they  ask  any  embarrassing  questions  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  No,  for  I  told  them  to  start  with  that  I  had 
married  out  of  the  circus." 

"Harold!" 

His  breath  came  heavily  and  he  walked  over  to 
a  window  and  stood  with  his  back  to  her.  She 
looked  at  him  wonderingly,  but  did  not  speak.  Then 
the  strain  broke.  He  could  endure  it  no  longer. 

"  And  they  had  sense  enough  not  to  ask  any  ques- 
tions. I  am  not  the  only  man  who  has  married  out- 
side of  his  caste." 

That  was  his  first  utterance  of  self-justification. 
His  mother's  hand  tightened  on  the  book  she  held. 

"  Will  the  Thomases  be  in  town  -this  spring?  " 

"  Next  week.     Mrs.  Thomas  and  Anne." 


162  KALEEMA 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  by  way  of  returning 
your  social  indebtedness  to  them?  " 
"I?" 

• 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Yes." 

His  lips  tightened  and  he  turned  back  to  the  win- 
dow. In  his  pockets  his  hands  were  twitching. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  presently,  "  when  I  have  a 
few  millions  — " 

"  Courtesy  does  n't  wait  for  millions,"  she  in- 
terrupted. "  Simplicity  is  the  best  kind.  And  a 
discourtesy  is  never  overlooked  by  a  man  like  Mr. 
Thomas." 

His  hands  were  still  twitching. 

"  You  are  going  to  ask  them  for  dinner,  or  some- 
thing, are  n't  you?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  but  that  does  n't  excuse 
you.  You  are  indebted  to  them  over  and  over  again 
socially  and  in  business." 

"  That  does  n't  matter  now.  I  am  down  and 
out."  He  crossed  the  room  and  went  to  another 
window. 

"  Oh,  Harold,  don't  say  that !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Then  he  came  and  stood  before  her,  his 
face  drawn,  looking  like  a  helpless,  hopeless  child 
again. 

"  Mother,  why  did  I  do  it?  "  his  dry  lips  said. 

"  Harold !  "  she  exclaimed  softly. 

This  was  the  first  time  in  all  her  motherhood  that 


KALEEMA  163 

she  had  been  unable  to  give  one  of  her  children  com- 
fort. 

He  looked  at  her  beseechingly.  He  wanted  to  fall 
down  on  his  knees  and  bury  his  head  in  her  lap  and 
implore  her  to  help  him,  just  as  he  used  to  do,  with 
blind  confidence.  Up  to  this  time  she  had  always 
saved  him ;  she  had  never  failed. 

She  wanted  to  take  him  in  her  arms,  and  her  heart 
ached  to  be  able  to  tell  him  that  it  was  nothing  but  a 
bad  dream.  She  never  forgot  those  helpless  words 
— "  Mother,  why  did  I  do  it?  "  and  that  she  could 
give  him  no  answer. 

He  turned  away,  for  there  was  a  choking  in  his 
throat. 

"  My  poor  boy,"  she  said,  "  why  did  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  why,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  I  know 
why." 

He  set  his  teeth  and  paced  the  floor. 

"  It 's  because  without  money  life 's  so  rotten, 
and  girls  like  her  don't  care.  It 's  not  the  money 
they  care  for.  It 's  something  else.  She  can  work 
herself  like  a  slave  —  and  be  happy  —  and  ask  for 
more.  And  it 's  worse  than  you  know,"  he  said. 
"  I  think  — "  and  he  knew  he  was  a  cad  to  say  it  — 
"  I  think  Mr.  Thomas  did  have  plans.  He  looked 
all  upset  when  I  told  him,  and  he  stopped  talking 
about  something  big  that  he  was  going  to  put  into 
my  hands.  I  suppose  they  know  a  dozen  fellows  — 
just  like  me,  only  not  fools  like  me.  He  '11  give  it 


164  KALEEMA 

to  one  of  them.  Perhaps  —  perhaps  I  might  have 
had  enough  money  so  that  I  could  have  stood  it  to 
marry  Anne." 

"Stood  it?"  repeated  his  mother.  "I  thought 
you  cared  for  her." 

"  I  did  —  in  a  way." 

He  came  back  and  stood  before  her,  hopelessness, 
regret  and  uncertainty  stamped  on  his  young  face. 

"Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "it's  all  over  now." 
But  his  imploring  eyes  still  looked  to  her  for  help. 

"  You  know  best,  Harold,"  she  said.  She  did 
not  meet  his  eyes. 

He  flung  himself  down  on  a  chair  and  buried  his 
head  in  his  hands.  She  was  so  thankful  that  at  last 
he  had  spoken. 

"  Gertrude  went  to  your  apartment  yesterday," 
she  said. 

Harold  looked  up.  "  Well,  I  want  Gertrude  to 
stay  away  from  there,"  he  said.  "  And  please  tell 
her  so." 

He  got  up  and  went  back  to  the  window. 

Presently  he  put  on  his  hat  and  overcoat,  took 
his  suitcase  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HE  hurried  down  the  street  and  struck  into  the 
park.  It  glistened,  for  it  was  covered  with 
a  thin  coating  of  snow.  He  could  not  endure  the 
thought  of  a  street  car.  It  was  already  dusk,  and 
a  car  would  be  filled  with  its  glare  of  light  and  with 
people. 

For  some  time  his  mother  remained  sitting  jusi 
where  he  had  left  her,  a  bright  spot  of  excitement 
burning  in  her  cheeks. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  find  Lloyd  or  Gertrude, 
but  it  vanished  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  Her  de- 
veloped sense  of  caution  returned  to  her,  and  she 
remained  quiet,  but  for  the  nervous  motion  of  her 
slippered  foot  on  the  rug.  She  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve her  own  hearing  that  he  had  said  so  much,  and 
beyond  even  that  she  knew  there  was  more.  Every 
day  after  he  left  she  had  gone  into  his  room  and 
looked  around  to  satisfy  herself  that  he  had  taken 
nothing  away.  She  had  begun  herself  attending  to 
his  mending,  and  he  brought  it  home  and  tumbled  it 
into  her  lap  as  if  he  were  a  child  with  big  holes  in 
the  knees  of  his  stockings.  She  was  very  glad  that 
he  had  spoken.  Ever  since  he  had  come  back  mar- 

165 


i66  KALEEMA 

ried  she  had  been  watching  the  hidden  worry  in  his 
face  and  feeling  the  eloquence  of  his  silence.  Every 
minute  that  he  had  sat  in  her  room,  listlessly  talking 
or  reading  or  half-asleep,  she  knew  that  he  was  long- 
ing for  her  to  touch  on  that  one  thing;  but  with  a 
stubborn  cruelty  she  had  been  silent.  She  loved 
him  too  selfishly  to  help  him. 

It  was  with  selfishness  now  that  her  eyes  glistened. 
He  had  shown  her  his  misery.  That  was  the  first 
step  on  the  road  back  home. 

Harold  had  not  walked  five  minutes  before  he 
was  cursing  himself  and  his  face  was  burning.  Out 
in  the  fresh  air  and  the  park's  cold  quiet  he  had  met 
his  broken  resolution. 

He  was  breathing  hard  and  blaming  Pittsburgh 
and  Mr.  Thomas  and  the  luxury  of  Anne  and  her 
home  and  its  appointments  and  trappings.  He  was 
calling  himself  a  dog  and  a  fool  and  a  traitor.  He 
knew,  now  that  it  was  too  late,  that  he  should  have' 
stayed  away  from  his  old  home.  After  cutting 
himself  off,  he  had  no  business  to  be  hanging  around 
there.  He  had  made  his  bed  and  it  was  for  him  to 
lie  in  it. 

He  wanted  to  get  to  a  telephone.  He  shifted  the 
heavy  suitcase  to  the  hand  that  was  not  so  cold  and 
walked  faster.  Through  the  trees  in  the  distance 
he  saw  a  light  that  he  surmised  might  be  some  build- 
ing and  he  made  for  it.  It  proved  to  be  a  little 
restaurant,  and  he  went  in  roughly,  put  down  his 


KALEEMA  167 

suitcase,  and  without  asking  permission  picked  up 
the  receiver.  The  woman  in  the  place  started  to 
remonstrate,  but  something  in  his  voice  stopped  her. 

When  the  bell  rang  Mrs.  Barton  sprang  to  her 
feet.  She  knew  instinctively  who  was  there.  She 
answered  without  waiting  for  the  maid. 

"  That  you,  Mother? "  His  voice  was  hoarse 
and  trembling. 

"  Yes." 

"  Say,  Mother,  for  God's  sake  forget  what  I 
said." 

"  Very  well." 

"  Don't  say  '  very  well ' !     Say  you  '11  try." 

"  I  will  try,"  she  repeated  dutifully. 

"  I  'm  not  a  cad,"  he  said. 

"  I  have  already  forgotten  it,  my  child." 

"  No,  you  have  n't !  Have  you  already  repeated 
it  to  somebody  else  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,  Harold." 

"  Well,  don't.  Not  as  long  as  you  live.  Not  to 
a  human  soul.  I  don't  know  what  ailed  me.  I 
did  n't  mean  a  word  I  said.  That 's  the  truth.  You 
believe  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver.  His  mother  paused  a 
moment  before  she  turned  away.  It  was  natural 
that  he  should  be  sorry.  But  it  was  said. 

He  gave  the  woman  a  quarter,  took  the  suitcase, 
and  was  gone. 


168  KALEEMA 

Kaleema  was  there  almost  the  instant  his  key 
touched  the  door.  She  took  the  suitcase  from  him 
and  dropped  it  on  the  floor,  and  he  held  her  very  close 
while  he  kissed  her. 

She  leaned  back  and  looked  at  him.  "  You  have 
been  away  forty-seven  hours,"  she  said,  "  and  it 
has  seemed  like  forty-seven  years !  "  She  put  her 
warm  hands  over  his  cold  ears  and  leaned  her  head 
on  his  shoulder  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Want  to  go  to  a  show  to-night?  "  he  said.  He 
was  striving  heroically  to  retrieve  what  he  had 
done. 

"  Do  I  want  to  go  to  a  show?  Do  I  want  to  go 
to  a  show?  "  she  repeated,  and  then  she  dashed  into 
the  bedroom  and  clapped  on  a  hat. 

He  followed.  "  Are  n't  we  going  to  have  any 
dinner  first  ?  "  he  said.  He  was  hungry. 

"  Certainly  we  are,"  she  answered.  Then  she 
seized  him  by  his  coat  and  whispered  impressively 
in  his  ear.  "  The  maid  is  still  here." 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  stupidly.  He  was  accustomed 
to  having  maids  remain. 

"  Well !  "  she  repeated  mockingly.  "  Why,  she 
must  be  half-witted,  of  course.  It 's  to  be  hoped 
she  does  n't  go  perfectly  crazy  and  put  poison  in 
the  food." 

"  Don't  you  get  any  references  from  these  peo- 
ple?" 

"  I  do  not.     Because  their  references  would  prob- 


KALEEMA  169 

ably  be  worse  than  their  faces.  Take  an  eyeful  of 
this  one  and  you  '11  understand." 

By  this  time  he  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  when 
he  went  to  the  washbowl  she  stood  so  close  to  his 
elbow  that  he  could  scarcely  wash  his  face  and  hands. 
She  began  poking  her  ringer  into  his  ribs.  That  al- 
ways made  him  splash  his  shirt. 

"  Say,"  she  shouted  above  the  running  water, 
"  what  do  you  suppose  happened  yesterday  ?  Your 
sister  was  here." 

He  buried  his  face  in  the  towel. 

"Did  you  hear?  Yesterday  your  sister  was 
here." 

"  Gert  ?  "  he  asked.  Then  he  regretted  the  un- 
necessary implication  of  a  lie.  But  he  did  not  want 
her  to  know  that  he  had  already  been  home.  She 
would  be  happier  to  think  that  he  came  straight  to 
her. 

"Of  course,"  she  said.  "  She  's  perfectly  won- 
derful, Harold  Barton.  She  's  the  most  wonderful 
person  I  ever  knew." 

She  was  very  impatient  as  she  stood  waiting  for 
him  to  emerge  from  the  towel.  Ever  since  the 
door  closed  behind  Gertrude  she  had  been  longing 
for  him  to  get  home  so  that  they  could  talk  about 
that  wonderful  visit.  He  prolonged  the  rubbing. 

"  Do  you  really  appreciate  how  pretty  and  per- 
fectly splendid  she  is  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Gertrude  is  all  right,"  he  answered. 


170  KALEEMA 

"  And  was  n't  it  lovely  of  her  to  come  and  be  so 
nice?" 

'  You  have  made  me  wet  my  shirt,  Kaleema/'  he 
said  peevishly. 

"  Well,  put  some  alcohol  on  it  and  shut  up,  cry- 
baby," she  advised,  and  turned  on  her  heel  and 
went  into  the  dining-room. 

When  he  followed  her  he  noticed  for  the  first  time 
that  she  had  on  a  new  hat.  It  was  of  an  exquisite 
shade  of  green  velvet,  and  it  was  tremendously  be- 
coming. In  it  she  was  very  striking.  He  waited 
until  she  left  the  table,  and  then  he  called  after 
her: 

"  Put  on  the  other  hat,  kid;  it 's  more  becoming." 

She  turned  and  gazed  at  him,  her  hands  on  her 
hips. 

"For  th'  love  of  Mike!"  she  ejaculated. 
"  Would  n't  that  trip  a  snake!  " 

He  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  Don't  flatter  yourself  that  you  're  foolin'  any- 
body. What 's  the  matter  with  th'  lid?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  he  answered  calmly. 

"  Only  with  me  and  the  earrings  in  it,  it  is  enough 
to  stop  the  cars." 

She  took  it  off  and  went  into  the  bedroom.  From 
there  she  called  back  to  him: 

"  You  must  have  been  goin'  with  a  queer  lot  of 
people  this  winter  and  you  're  afraid  somebody  will 
take  me  for  one  of  'em." 


KALEEMA  171 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  nobody  but  you  this 
winter,"  he  answered. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  while  she  put 
on  the  other  hat. 

"  It  gives  me  a  pain,"  she  said,  "  to  think  of  the 
innocent  things  I  've  sacrificed  to  keep  you  in  a  de- 
cent disposition.  If  you  had  married  somebody 
who  wanted  to  fight,  she  would  n't  have  had  long  to 
wait.  Funny,  ain't  it,  that  what  gets  by  in  a  man's 
sweetheart  strikes  right  to  his  nervous  system  when 
she  's  his  wife." 

She  consoled  herself  with  a  little  more  paint,  and 
then  Harold  went  in  and  told  her  how  pretty  she 
would  look  if  she  would  rub  a  little  of  it  off. 

For  an  instant  she  stood  between  laughing  and 
crying,  and  then  she  burst  out  laughing.  She 
rubbed  her  hands  hard  over  her  cheeks,  and  then 
she  turned  to  him. 

"  All  right  now  ?  "  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  closely. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  he  answered. 

"Vaudeville  to-night,  Harold?" 

"  Anything  you  like,"  he  said. 

He  loved  her  much  more  in  the  smart  little  black 
hat.  He  slipped  on  his  overcoat  and  went  into  the 
dining-room  to  wait  while  she  put  on  her  things. 

The  memory  of  the  afternoon  had  almost  ceased 
to  trouble  him.  The  regret  and  guilt  had  nearly 
evaporated  in  his  heroic  attempt  at  atonement.  It 


172  KALEEMA 

was  a  cold  night  and  he  was  tired.     Besides,  he 
hated  vaudeville. 

He  was  already  storing  up  new  resolutions.  He 
would  stop  going  home.  As  he  resolved  it,  a  ter- 
rible homesickness  clutched  him.  He  would  not 
even  telephone.  He  would  learn  to  get  along  with- 
out the  conveniences  and  keepsakes  in  his  old  room. 
He  would  live  like  a  man  who  had  been  shipwrecked. 
He  would  deal  with  Mr.  Thomas  in  a  strictly  busi- 
ness way.  If  Mr.  Thomas  did  n't  like  it  he  could 
go  to  somebody  else.  He  would  never  go  near  his 
house  again.  He  would  never  see  Anne  or  Mrs. 
Thomas  again.  He  would  drop  all  of  his  college 
friends.  He  would  forget  everybody  he  had  ever 
known.  He  would  n't  even  think  east  of  the  park 
again.  When  he  had  got  thus  far  he  raised  his 
head  and  looked  around  the  dining-room  and  the 
living-room.  He  detested  the  color  of  the  walls. 
But  it  was  not  worth  while  spending  the  money  to 
change  it.  No  telling  how  long  he  would  be  there. 
Then  suddenly  he  bit  his  lips.  He  remembered  that 
he  had  just  resolved  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  life 
there.  The  apartment  was  cheap  and  hideous.  It 
was  useless  to  spend  money  trying  to  fix  it.  It  was 
cheap  and  hideous  from  the  first  foundation  stone. 
Kaleema  was  slow,  but  he  was  n't  cross  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AT  the  theater  they  ran  into  a  big  surprise. 
While  he  was  standing  in  line  at  the  box- 
office  window  she  dashed  away  from  him,  and  when 
he  caught  sight  of  her  she  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  vestibule  talking  to  George  Carney. 

She  was  very  gleeful,  and  Carney's  kind  eyes 
were  smiling  down  on  her  as  he  answered  her 
vehement  questions. 

A  look  of  extreme  annoyance  came  into  Harold's 
face.  He  did  n't  like  Carney.  Carney  did  n't  like 
him  any  better. 

Kaleema  was  gasping  in  regret  and  amazement  at 
the  news  that  the  combination  of  her  departure  and 
de  Bassonville's  presence  had  really  closed  the  show. 

"  Where  are  all  the  folks?  "  she  demanded. 

"  The  Skamons  went  to  Kansas  City,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"And  Godiva?" 

"  I  left  her  sitting  by  the  stove  reading  Christian 
Science." 

"  I  hope  it  worked.     And  the  bum  legit.  ?  " 

"  He  got  a  job  out  there  to  cut  ice." 

"  WThile  he 's  dickerin'  with  Frohman  and  Brady, 


174  KALEEMA 

and  waitin'  for  'em  to  send  a  orchestra  to  escort  him 
to  Broadway,  like  a  Italian  politician.  And  the 
Ginivens  ? " 

"  They  struck  another  show." 

"  Through  that  damn  '  Clipper,'  of  course." 

"  Of  course." 

"  And  dear  old  John,  and  Charley,  and  Sam  ?  " 

"  Dear  old  John  got  very  drunk  and  sprained  his 
ankle,  and  Charley  and  Sam  came  back  with  me. 
Sam  opens  here  to-night." 

"What!"  she  gasped. 

Carney  laughed  and  nodded.  He  was  thinking 
how  pretty  she  had  grown  since  she  was  married. 

"Here?  In  this  theater?"  She  leaned  back 
and  gazed  at  the  garish  architecture  of  the  vestibule. 
"My  Gawd!  It 's  Broadway." 

Carney  laughed  outright. 

"What  luck!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  I'm  so 
glad.  Come  on.  The  show 's  begun.  Come  and 
see  Harold  just  a  minute." 

Harold,  on  the  other  side  of  the  vestibule,  had 
been  watching  them,  and  when  Carney  raised  his 
head  their  eyes  met.  It  was  too  late  for  either  of 
them  to  draw  back  now.  Kaleema  was  already 
making  for  the  other  side,  and  Carney  set  his  jaw 
and  followed  her. 

He  had  always  admitted  that  Harold  was  hand- 
some, but  he  had  never  missed  a  mite  of  the  weak- 


KALEEMA  175 

ness  that  was  in  his  face.  As  he  went  toward  him 
all  he  could  think  of  was  the  way  Harold  had  looked, 
back  there  in  Dakota,  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  his  face  livid,  while  Adam  James  staggered  to 
his  feet. 

When  he  reached  him  and  they  shook  hands,  he 
tried  to  remember  that,  after  all,  the  boy  had  mar- 
ried Kaleema.  Carney  set  his  jaw  harder,  and  he 
wondered  if  she  were  happy.  The  thought  came 
into  his  mind  that  if  she  were  not  he  could  walk  up 
to  Harold  and  strangle  him  with  one  hand. 

"  Are  you  doing  anything  yet  ?  "  asked  Kaleema, 
to  break  the  awkward  silence. 

"  Just  boxing  a  little  for  two  or  three  weeks,"  he 
answered. 

"  Not  fighting !  "  said  Kaleema.  Some  way  she 
hated  to  think  of  him  as  doing  that.  "  Or  train- 
ing some  lanky  white  hope  ?  "  she  added. 

Carney  smiled.  "  That 's  it ;  training  some  lanky 
white  hope,"  he  answered.  "  One  of  the  clubs  thinks 
that  it  has  a  pretty  good  man,  and  they  have  turned 
him  over  to  me  for  a  while.  It 's  better  to  do  that 
than  be  in  town  with  nothing  to  do." 

Kaleema  remembered  that  he  seldom  used  slang. 
She  was  suddenly  glad  of  it.  She  observed  from  the 
corner  of  her  eye  how  very  good-looking  and  well- 
groomed  he  was  and  how  fine  his  teeth  were.  She 
was  glad  of  that,  too.  Not  that  she  liked  him  any 


176  KALEEMA 

better  than  when  he  was  road-worn,  along  with  the 
rest  of  them,  but  she  knew  that  none  of  those  details 
would  escape  Harold. 

"  May  I  come  to  the  gymnasium  some  day  ?  " 
she  asked. 

Carney  went  red  to  his  ears. 

"If  your  husband  is  willing,"  he  replied. 

"  Neat  way  of  getting  rid  of  me,"  she  observed. 

She  opened  her  little  bag  and  took  out  one  of  her 
cards  to  give  to  him,  and  she  flushed  prettily  as  he 
held  it  in  his  large  hand  and  looked  at  it.  She  was 
very  proud  of  those  little  engraved  cards,  and  this 
was  the  first  one  she  had  used. 

"  Our  address  is  there,"  she  explained,  with  an 
elaborate  little  flourish  of  her  hand.  "  You  will 
come  to  see  us,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered. 

"  Come  soon.  I  want  to  talk  over  old  times  — 
just  this  winter,  but  they  seem  so  far  away." 

She  saw  the  muscles  harden  in  his  cheeks. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  repeated.  He  was  very  con- 
scious that  the  invitation  was  not  echoed  by  the  glum 
boy  at  her  side.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  am  keeping  you 
from  the  performance,"  he  added.  "  Sam's  act  is 
down  about  the  middle  of  the  program." 

He  took  a  program  out  of  his  pocket,  opened  it, 
and  handed  it  to  her;  then  she  and  Harold  went  in- 
side. 

When  he  was  alone  he  looked  again  at  the  little 


KALEEMA  177 

card.  He  started  to  put  it  in  his  pocket,  then  he 
tore  it  into  tiny  bits  and  dropped  them  on  the  floor. 

He  did  not  want  a  vestige  of  memory  of  her  that 
he  could  force  from  him. 

Kaleema  could  not  focus  much  of  her  attention 
on  the  show.  She  was  thinking  about  Carney.  It 
was  just  like  him  to  be  working  instead  of  hanging 
around  Broadway  waiting  indefinitely  for  another 
show.  He  was  a  thousand  times  too  good  for  the 
show  business.  Even  if  he  stayed  in  it,  he  would 
never  succeed.  That  she  was  sure  of.  She  won- 
dered if  he  ever  would  come  up  to  the  apartment. 
She  was  very  sure  that  he  would  not.  The  cer- 
tainty of  it  made  her  long  to  see  him.  Somehow, 
she  felt  as  if  she  had  known  and  loved  and  trusted 
him  all  her  life.  She  fell  to  thinking  about  that  last 
night  in  her  dressing-room,  when  he  had  started  to 
kiss  her.  She  remembered  that  she  had  wanted  him 
to  do  it,  too.  That  was  the  worst  of  it.  She  re- 
membered how  she  had  hurried  out  of  the  empty 
theater,  not  because  she  was  afraid  of  him  but  of 
the  something  indefinable.  She  realized  now  that 
she  had  been  more  afraid  of  herself  than  of  him. 
And  all  the  time  he  was  looking  upon  her  as  little 
more  than  a  child.  It  was  strange.  She  began 
wondering  over  it. 

Somebody  on  the  stage  missed  a  cue.  She  nudged 
Harold.  He  was  half -asleep. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  he  said. 


178  KALEEMA 

"  The  prima  donna  missed  a  cue  and  the  act  hit 
the  ceiling.  That 's  all.  Go  to  sleep  again  if  you 
want  to." 

When  Sam's  act  came  she  sat  up  nervously 
straight.  The  man  he  was  working  with  was  re- 
markably like  him.  They  were  both  tall,  slim 
young  fellows,  with  a  good  manner,  and  in  faultless 
evening  dress.  They  had  some  good  songs  and  a 
refreshing  lot  of  jokes.  Kaleema  had  not  known 
Sam  could  sing  at  all,  and  her  heart  jumped  into 
her  throat  as  she  wondered  what  sort  of  mess  he 
was  going  to  make  of  it.  She  soon  knew.  They 
went  about  their  work  with  a  finish  and  ease  and 
spontaneity  that  held  from  the  beginning.  The  act 
was  amusing;  it  was  charming.  They  got  call  after 
call.  Kaleema  suddenly  found  that  her  hands  were 
desperately  clutching  the  arms  of  the  seat,  and  she 
felt  as  if  for  fifteen  minutes  her  heart  had  ceased 
beating.  Then  she  broke  into  wild  clapping.  Then 
she  took  out  one  of  the  cards  from  her  little  bag, 
scribbled  on  it,  addressed  it  to  Sam  Taney,  and 
called  an  usher. 

Harold  had  been  curiously  watching  her,  and  he 
took  the  card  and  read  it : 

"  Sammy,  you  're  simply  great !  Who  's  the  man 
you  're  working  with?  You  're  both  of  you  simply 
great !  Come  up  and  see  us.  I  'm  dying  to  see  you ! 
Kaleema." 

Harold  straightened  up. 


KALEEMA  179 

"  What  rot  to  send  to  that  fellow,"  he  exclaimed 
in  a  whisper.  He  started  to  tear  the  card. 

She  snatched  it  and  handed  it  back  of  him  to  the 
usher. 

"  Beat  it,  kid,"  she  commanded,  and  the  sedate 
usher  hurried  up  the  aisle. 

Harold's  face  went  white.  His  first  impulse  was 
to  leave  the  theater,  but  his  self-consciousness  never 
let  him  make  a  spectacle  of  himself.  He  sat  still. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  pulled  himself  together  and 
tried  to  remember  his  resolution. 

Regret  for  what  she  had  done  began  to  steal  over 
Kaleema.  She  had  done  it  because  she  had 
been  so  happy  to  see  an  old  professional  friend 
successful  on  his  first  appearance  on  Broadway; 
she  could  realize  what  it  must  mean  to  good 
old  Sam  Taney.  But  ten  minutes  later  the  whole 
thing  fell  cold.  She  was  afraid  to  look  at  Harold. 
They  were  strangely  quiet  all  the  way  home. 

When  they  stepped  into  their  own  tiny,  dark  hall 
she  nervously  put  her  hand  on  his  as  he  closed  the 
door.  It  was  easier  there  in  the  darkness. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  that  I  did  that,  dear.  I  hope  that 
Sam  won't  come." 

He  drew  his  hand  away  from  her  and  turned  on 
the  light. 

It  was  always  so. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

GERTRUDE,  as  was  her  habit,  paid  no  atten- 
tion whatever  to  the  message  left  for  her  by 
Harold  and  transmitted  through  her  mother.  On 
Tuesday  morning  she  went  again  to  see  Kaleema. 
She  liked  her.  Seldom  had  she  liked  any  one  so 
well. 

She  was  on  her  way  to  the  settlement,  and  she 
stopped  to  take  Kaleema  with  her.  Kaleema  hur- 
ried into  her  street  clothes  and  went. 

First  Gertrude  showed  her  all  over  the  settlement 
house,  Kaleema  following  her  in  wonder  and  ad- 
miration. She  had  never  dreamed  that  such  a 
place  would  be  so  practical  and  plain  and  wholesome 
in  its  simple  refinement.  In  the  nursery  there  were 
nurses  boasting  over  twenty-five  gurgling  babies, 
and  in  the  kindergarten  there  were  two  teachers  try- 
ing their  best  to  make  fifty  chubby  children  sing 
simple  songs,  play  games,  or  sit  and  play  at  little 
tables.  When  Gertrude  and  Kaleema  came  in  here 
fifty  pairs  of  bashful  eyes  were  turned  on  them. 
Gertrude  led  the  way  to  a  window-seat,  and  from 
there  they  watched  the  proceedings  for  half  an  hour. 
Kaleema  was  fascinated. 

Presently  the  visitors  moved  on,  and  Gertrude 
180 


KALEEMA  181 

explained  that  after  the  public  schools  were  out  in 
the  afternoon  the  older  children  would  come,  for 
the  gymnasium,  cooking  and  sewing,  and  other 
things.  In  the  evening  the  grown  people  had  club 
meetings  and  classes.  The  Dramatic  Club,  made 
up  mostly  of  intense  young  Jews  and  Poles,  had  a 
very  uncertain  director  in  the  person  of  a  college 
girl  who  could  read  Shakespeare  beautifully  but 
did  n't  know  enough  to  come  in  out  of  the  rain,  and 
did  n't  Kaleema  want  to  take  it  ?  Kaleema's  eyes 
sparkled.  Yes,  she  did. 

"  Then  I  '11  do  my  best  to  get  her  out,"  said  Ger- 
trude. "  It 's  not  being  at  all  unfair  to  her.  She 
never  comes  in  bad  weather  and  she  's  always  late, 
anyway.  Half  the  club  goes  home  in  disgust  and 
the  other  half  sits  and  talks  anarchy." 

"Oh,  I  should  love  that,"  gasped  Kaleema,  "  but 
I  'm  afraid  Harold  will  be  wild." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Gertrude.  "  It  won't  hurt 
him.  And  can  you  play  the  piano  ?  " 

"  Some." 

"  That 's  fine.  It 's  perfect  slavery,  and  we  al- 
ways need  somebody  to  do  it  —  for  the  kindergarten 
and  gymnasium  and  all  sorts  of  things.  We  '11  count 
on  you  for  two  half -days  every  week,  and  when  you 
get  that  Dramatic  Club  you  may  have  them  as  often 
as  you  please  and  can  get  the  use  of  a  room.  They 
are  crazy  about  it,  and  would  come  seven  nights  a 
week  —  for  you." 


182  KALEEMA 

The  implication  made  Kaleema  smile;  and  when 
she  went  home  her  head  was  full  of  exciting  new 
plans.  That  afternoon  she  was  too  stirred  up  to 
stay  at  home,  so,  looking  extremely  pretty  and  well- 
dressed,  she  went  downtown  and  meandered  along 
Broadway.  She  met  three  people  she  knew,  one  of 
them  being  the  shabby,  dissipated-looking  man,  and 
she  had  a  perfectly  glorious  time  standing  on  the 
curbstone  and  talking.  It  was  after  six  o'clock 
when  she  got  home,  and  from  the  moment  that 
Harold  came  until  she  was  nearly  asleep  her  tongue 
ran  on  like  a  windmill  in  a  hurricane.  There  was 
not  a  detail  that  she  missed,  and  some  of  them  she 
mentioned  two  or  three  times.  Harold  was  pro- 
voked at  Gertrude;  but,  nevertheless,  he  wanted  to 
hear  the  whole  thing. 

A  few  days  later  he  was  called  to  the  telephone  out 
of  the  midst  of  his  morning's  work. 

"  Good  morning,  dear,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Hello,  Mother,"  he  answered.  He  expected 
that  she  was  going  to  ask  why  he  had  not  been  home 
lately.  But  she  was  not.  He  did  not  know  her 
yet. 

"  Mrs.  Thomas  just  called  me  up.  She  and  Anne 
got  in  this  morning.  They  are  dining  with  us  to- 
night, and  I  want  you  and  your  wife  to  come." 

There  was  a  moment's  intense  silence. 

"  I  can't,"  he  answered. 

"You  must,  Harold,"  she  replied  very  firmly. 


KALEEMA  183 

"  It  would  be  inexcusable  rudeness  to  them.  Mrs. 
Thomas  asked  about  you  the  first  thing.  I  told  her 
that  I  would  telephone  to  you  right  away.  Lloyd 
and  Edna  have  engagements  elsewhere,  so  I  will 
call  up  Tommy  and  we  will  have  a  nice  little  family 
party." 

Tommy  was  a  cousin  of  Anne's  and  an  old  chum 
of  Gertrude's.  Mrs.  Barton  spoke  slowly,  to  give 
Harold  time.  Just  as  she  knew  intuitively,  he  stood 
there  with  his  lips  twitching,  grasping  blindly  for  a 
decision.  He  cleared  the  nervous  hoarseness  from 
his  throat  before  he  could  speak. 

"  I  'm  awfully  sorry,  Mother,  but  Kaleema  is  sick 
with  a  bad  cold." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  but  I  am  sure  she  will  be 
better  by  night,"  she  answered. 

"  No,  she  won't  be,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Barton  bit  her  lips  to  hide  a  little  smile. 
Gertrude  was  there.  She  had  been  helping 
her  mother  with  the  household  orders  for  the 
day. 

"  Telephone  to  her  to  take  good  care  of  herself 
until  night,"  Mrs.  Barton  said,  "  but  you  must  come 
anyway,  Harold.  Your  wife  will  understand." 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  before  he  had  a  chance 
to  reply. 

"  Kaleema  is  ill  with  a  cold,"  she  explained  to 
Gertrude. 

Gertrude  stood  looking  straight  at  her. 


184  KALEEMA 

"  He  's  getting  to  be  a  very  agile  liar,"  she  ob- 
served. 

"  Gertrude !  "  exclaimed  her  mother. 

Gertrude  answered  with  an  avenging  lift  of  her 
brows. 

"  You  are  a  very,  very  unwise  girl,"  said  Mrs. 
Barton,  and  left  the  room. 

That  afternoon,  having  arranged  his  excuse  for 
going  at  all,  Harold  left  the  office  as  early  as  possible 
and  hurried  to  the  Eighties,  East.  He  had  tele- 
phoned to  Kaleema  that  he  had  something  to  attend 
to  and  would  not  be  home  until  late. 

He  found  his  mother  in  her  room,  as  usual.  He 
was  sure  that  neither  his  absence  nor  what  had  oc- 
curred at  his  last  visit  would  be  commented  upon. 
He  was  quite  right.  It  was  not.  His  clothes  were 
there,  and  it  all  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  him  when 
he  went  into  his  own  room  to  dress. 

When  the  Thomases  arrived  he  excused  his  wife 
by  saying  she  was  ill  with  a  dreadful  cold.  The 
same  cold  lasted  over  to  the  next  night,  to  his  great 
regret,  when  he  had  asked  them  to  dine  downtown 
and  go  to  the  theater.  Mrs.  Thomas  and  Anne  both 
sent  his  wife  very  kind  messages.  Shortly  after, 
they  left  for  California. 

One  day  soon  after,  Gertrude  telephoned  to  Ka- 
leema that  the  college  girl  of  the  Dramatic  Club  had 
been  got  rid  of.  One  of  the  resident  directors  had 


KALEEMA  185 

asked  her  to  take  something  else  which  would  give 
her  a  wider  scope  for  her  ability ;  she  had  consented 
reluctantly,  and  they  were  going  to  side-track  her 
to  the  Woman's  Club,  because  that  prospered  in  spite 
of  anything. 

"  So  you  go  to-night  at  eight  o'clock,"  concluded 
Gertrude. 

"  I  '11  be  there,  and  on  time,"  said  Kaleema.  And 
she  was. 

There  were  fifteen  in  the  club.  They  were  very 
polite  to  the  new  director,  mostly  because  they  were 
not  yet  very  Americanized,  and  partly  because  they 
were  so  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  unreliable  last  director. 
When  Kaleema  looked  at  them  she  comprehended 
that,  like  herself,  they  understood  work.  And  she 
knew  from  their  intense,  eager  faces,  that,  like  her- 
self, they  loved  the  right  kind  of  work.  And  in  this 
place  alone,  out  of  the  whole  strange,  grasping,  rasp- 
ing country  of  their  adoption,  they  were  able  to  give 
the  best  that  was  in  them. 

After  the  first  ten  minutes'  courtesies  had  been 
exchanged  they  had  her  sized  up.  A  young  Jew,  a 
printer  in  this  country  and  a  university  graduate  in 
Russia,  helped  her  to  read  over  and  pronounce  the 
list  of  names,  and  explained  who  each  one  was. 
She  herself  started  the  laughter  at  the  way  she  got 
her  tongue  twisted  over  the  Polish  and  Jewish  words. 

"  And  they  're  all  Americanized,  at  that,"  airily 


i86  KALEEMA 

said  Miss  Rebecca  Sorkai,  a  pretty,  fat  little  school 
teacher.  "  They  're  nothing  compared  to  what  we 
brought  over." 

She  tried  to  be  nice,  but  she  was  the  only  one  in 
the  crowd  of  whom  Kaleema  was  afraid.  She  had 
grown  up  in  the  New  York  streets  and  public  schools, 
and  graduated  from  a  New  York  college,  and  she 
was  excruciatingly  keen,  critical  and  self-possessed. 
Somehow,  she  made  Kaleema  feel  very  humble. 
After  all,  the  college  girl  did  have  advantages. 
They  stuck  out  all  over  this  pretty  little  Jewess. 
Kaleema  was  afraid  of  her  life  that  all  of  a  sudden 
Miss  Sorkai  was  going  to  ask  her  to  do  some  arith- 
metic, or  how  to  spell  something  of  ten  syllables. 

The  others  seemed  less  analytical.  They  were 
more  absorbed  in  their  own  intense  personalities. 
They  themselves  were  so  frankly  living  with  one 
foot  in  the  finite  and  the  other  in  the  infinite,  and 
suffering  so  profoundly  while  torn  between  the  two 
worlds.  Because  Kaleema  was  physically  cleaner 
than  themselves,  they  did  not  immediately  grasp  that 
she  was  much  like  them;  that  her  own  nature  was 
in  the  making,  in  the  struggle  universal  and  in- 
escapable. Between  them  and  her  there  was,  at 
the  beginning,  just  a  tacit  comprehension  that  each 
was  striving  to  do  his  best  and  to  see  the  best  in  a 
God-made  and  man-distorted  world.  Here,  where 
there  was  no  superintendent's  watchful  eye  or  work- 
shop clock  to  grind  them  through  the  hours  or  ruth- 


KALEEMA  187 

lessly  fine  them,  they  could  indulge  in  the  luxury  of 
courtesy  and  toleration.  Here  they  could  bring 
their  idealism  with  them.  Here  was  a  place  in 
which  to  create,  and  here  was  the  preeminent  place 
to  appreciate  other  men's  creations. 

"  We  have  been  reading  Ibsen,"  explained  the 
young  printer,  "  and  we  decided  to  produce  '  Pillars 
of  Society,'  but  we  don't  seem  to  make  it  work  out 
very  human." 

"  It  was  the  last  director's  fault,"  dramatically 
exclaimed  a  young  Pole.  "  She  is  a  very  nice  lady, 
but  she  pestered  us  too  much  about  our  pronuncia- 
tion. What  if  we  can't  talk  English  like  Sir  Henry 
Irving !  Most  of  us  have  been  talking  only  Polish  or 
Jewish  until  two  or  three  years  ago.  That  does  n't 
matter!  A  great  dramatist  creates  fundamentally 
human  beings.  It  does  n't  matter  whether  they  are 
talking  Greek  or  Yiddish.  The  essential  thing  is 
that  they  are  living,  suffering  human  things.  That 
lady  was  very  nice,  but  she  did  not  know  her  busi- 
ness." 

At  this  declaration  Kaleema's  heart-beats  quick- 
ened. Here  at  last  was  the  unnamed  something  that 
her  soul  and  brain  had  been  striving  for.  Here  was 
the  explanation  of  her  revolt  against  the  absurd  old 
melodrama  and  the  ranting  that  had  usually  earned 
her  living.  That  was  why  she  had  often  loved  a 
part  when  she  was  studying  it  and  hated  it  for  the 
way  some  manager  made  her  play  it.'  Here  was  a 


i88  KALEEMA 

chance  to  work  out  psychology,  to  get  light  and 
shade,  and  respect  values. 

"  Of  course,"  politely  suggested  a  young  woman 
with  a  tired,  intellectual  face,  "  we  shall  be  glad  to 
do  what  you  like,  but  that  last  lady  was  crazy  about 
Shakespeare  — " 

"  She  drowned  us  in  Shakespeare,"  interrupted 
the  printer,  clapping  his  hands  over  his  eyes. 

"  For  myself,"  said  Kaleema,  her  voice  quite  in- 
nocent of  any  tone  of  apology,  "  I  hate  Shakespeare. 
He  's  too  long-drawn-out  and  flowery." 

Miss  Rebecca  Sorkai  sniffed  the  air.  To  her  this 
was  blasphemy. 

"  He 's  all  right  to  read,  I  suppose,"  continued 
Kaleema,  "  but  when  you  're  trying  to  work  some 
intense  interest  and  life  into  a  thing,  you  don't  stand 
for  half  an  hour  talking  to  the  moon  or  describin' 
a  fairy's  wings.  That  may  do  for  a  stingy,  half- 
dead  old  bachelor  who  imagines  he  has  brains  and 
who  pays  two  dollars  for  a  seat  because  he  is  too 
afraid  of  fire  to  climb  to  a  fifty-cent  one,  but  it  never 
gets  a  thrill  out  of  me." 

Miss  Rebecca  Sorkai's  blood  all  but  froze  in  her 
veins.  She  resolved  then  and  there  to  resign.  This 
was  exactly  what  they  might  have  expected  of  a 
show-girl.  This  was  typically  America.  Oh,  for 
art!  —  for  freedom  and  justice  in  .Russia! 

"  Then  we  '11  go  on  with  the  *  Pillars  of  Soci- 
ety '  ?  "  inquired  the  young  Pole. 


KALEEMA  189 

"  And  can't  we,"  suggested  Kaleema,  a  little  tim- 
idly, "  once  in  a  while  have  a  night  to  read  some- 
thing, something  that  will  help  us  to  imagine  things 
into  our  other  work  —  and  into  the  world  ?  It  will 
make  such  a  difference,  as  we  go  along." 

The  printer's  eyes  brightened.  "  Why  not  ?  "  he 
said.  "  What  shall  we  read  first  ?  " 

Kaleema,  seeing  the  eagerness  in  their  faces,  for- 
got her  shyness.  Her  own  eyes  deepened  in  re- 
sponse to  theirs. 

"  I  have  just  finished  something  that  I  should  like 
to  read  again  with  you,  '  The  Sunken  Bell.' ' 

Miss  Rebecca  Sorkai  gave  her  a  quick  look. 
After  all,  perhaps  she  wouldn't  resign.  The  new 
director  was  somewhat  baffling. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  following  weeks  slipped  by  like  hours. 
Kaleema  grew  to  love  the  settlement,  and  the 
people  there  loved  her.  They  feasted  their  eyes  on 
her  because  she  was  pretty,  and  they  opened  their 
hearts  to  her  because  she,  understanding,  could  be 
one  of  them.  She  seemed  to  hold  them  by  some 
mysterious  power,  and  their  suffering  wrung  her 
heart.  The  struggling  young  actors  met  four  times 
a  week.  Under  her  inspiration  everything  else  in 
their  lives  had  given  way  to  their  passion  for  this 
work.  Those  in  charge  of  the  house  smiled  their 
indulgence  and  let  the  enthusiasm  run  its  course. 

One  day  she  met  Carney  downtown.  He  was 
standing  on  a  corner  waiting  for  a  car.  When  he 
saw  her  coming  he  neither  ran  away  from  her  nor 
went  to  meet  her,  but  stood  like  a  husky  pillar  of 
indecision. 

She  went  straight  to  him  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  I  suppose  you  realize  that  I  have  n't  seen  you 
through  any  fault  of  your  own,"  she  remarked. 

She  had  on  the  earrings  and  the  green  hat.  Her 
brows  looked  very  straight  and  fine.  He  had  never 
seen  her  when  she  seemed  so  lovely. 

190 


KALEEMA  191 

For  answer  he  smiled  down  into  her  eyes. 

"  And  I  hope,"  she  went  on,  shrugging  her  shoul- 
ders, "  you  have  n't  been  spendin'  any  money  on  a 
big  policeman  stationed  at  the  gymnasium  door  to 
keep  me  out." 

He  laughed.  But  when  he  spoke  his  face  had 
hardened  into  seriousness. 

'  Your  husband  would  not  like  to  have  you  do 
such  things  as  that." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  would  n't?  " 

"  I  should  n't  like  it  if  you  were  mine." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  puzzled. 

"  Are  n't  you  queer?  "  she  said. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  particular  about  some  things," 
he  replied. 

"  I  believe  you  are  pretty  respectable,"  she  said. 

"  I  want  a  woman  to  be,"  he  answered. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  looking  at  the  sidewalk. 

"  You  know  you  have  married  out  of  the  show 
business,"  he  said,  "  and  it  is  best  for  you  to  forget 
a  good  many  of  your  old  associations  which  your 
husband  might  not  understand." 

"  That  lets  out  all  my  friends,"  she  said  wist- 
fully. 

"  Make  new  ones,"  he  answered.  "  Don't  be  in- 
terested in  anything  but  your  husband's  friends  and 
life.  It 's  the  best  way  to  do.  Here 's  my  car. 
I  'm  glad  I  met  you.  Good-by  —  good-by !  " 

He  shook  hands  with  her  and  hurried  to  the  car. 


192  KALEEMA 

She  walked  on  slowly,  a  little  stunned.  Her 
cheeks  were  burning  and  she  was  on  the  verge  of 
tears.  Her  feelings  were  hurt.  George  Carney 
preaching!  A  lot  he  knew  about  it! 

She  turned  into  a  cross-street  to  get  away  from 
the  noise  of  the  cars.  They  made  her  nervous 
enough  to  scream. 

She  knew  now,  after  the  trouble  about  Sam, 
though  he  had  come  to  see  her  only  once,  that  Har- 
old would  be  angry  if  she  went  to  the  gymnasium, 
but  she  wondered  how  Carney  knew.  Anyway,  he 
need  not  have  been  so  mean  about  it.  Sometimes 
when  she  was  lonesome  and  starving  for  a  little 
gossip,  she  went  into  the  office  of  the  shabby,  dis- 
sipated-looking man.  He  always  cheered  her  up 
and  begged  her  to  come  again.  He  was  married  — 
to  a  shrew  of  a  wife  who  wandered  off  over  the 
earth  but  viciously  refused  him  his  freedom. 

That  was  the  explanation.  It  dawned  on  her 
after  she  had  walked  two  blocks.  A  lonely  married 
man,  no  matter  how  straight  he  means  to  be,  is  al- 
ways deadened  more  or  less  to  another  woman's 
reputation. 

She  gave  a  little  understanding  nod  of  her  head. 

That  George  Carney  was  splendid. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MISS  REBECCA  SORKAI  did  not  resign. 
Instead,  she  worked  like  a  slave  to  learn  her 
part  and  not  to  get  on  Kaleema's  nerves  at  the  re- 
hearsals. She  even  forgot  to  criticize  her  when  she 
used  bad  English,  left  off  her  g's,  or  tipped  back  in 
her  chair  and  sat  leaning  against  the  wall,  chewing 
a  pencil. 

Kaleema  discovered  that,  though  most  of  them 
went  seldom  to  the  theater,  it  was  always  to  see  th6 
best  work  and  the  best  plays.  Her  work  with  them 
was,  to  Kaleema  herself,  the  first  glimpse  of  what 
the  stage  might  mean;  in  her  reading  and  research 
for  them  she  found  the  first  definite  answer  to  the 
vague  dissatisfactions  and  longings  which  had  be- 
set her  in  the  "  career  "  into  which  she  had  been  so 
haphazardly  tumbled. 

Thus  the  late  winter  and  early  spring  passed, 
Kaleema  often  going  to  the  settlement  in  company 
with  Gertrude,  who  continued  her  stanch  friend; 
and  also  having  the  time  of  her  life  dressing  up  and 
going  downtown  to  sail  proudly  along  the  once- 
hated  Broadway,  chin  in  air.  She  often  met  old 
friends,  for  many  of  the  road  shows  were  already 
closing  and  the  people  coming  into  town. 

193 


194  KALEEMA 

She  frequently  coaxed  Harold  to  go  to  the  little 
restaurants  downtown  where  she  could  chatter 
through  the  evening.  That  was  what  she  liked. 
When  he  talked  it  was  usually  to  criticize;  at  other 
times  he  was  silent  and  depressed.  She  never  could 
get  hardened  to  this  mood.  It  always  brought  the 
clutch  back  to  her  heart.  She  tried  to  change  her- 
self, did  everything  that  she  could  think  of  to  please 
him,  but  always  she  failed.  Pretty  soon  her  old 
naturalness  began  to  fade.  She  never  laughed,  only 
smiled,  looking  for  his  approval,  and  she  guarded 
nearly  every  word.  It  was  seldom  that  any  slang 
escaped  her,  and  she  had  almost  forgotten  how  to 
swear. 

One  night  downtown  they  encountered  Edna  and 
Haydn.  Both  out  of  curiosity  and  to  torment  Har- 
old, Edna  went  over  and  sat  down  at  their  table. 
Harold  did  not  even  pretend  to  be  glad  to  see  them, 
and  Kaleema  felt  it  with  the  keen  sense  for  reading 
him  that  she  had  developed.  Two  or  three  times  she 
caught  Haydn's  eye  and  longed  to  get  some  fun 
out  of  the  party,  but  Harold's  sulky  face  and  his 
manifest  boredom  were  very  effective.  Arthur 
Haydn  watched  her  curiously.  He  wished  that, 
without  Harold's  overpowering  depression,  he  might 
have  a  chance  to  talk  to  her.  He  felt  instinctively 
that  she  knew  her  world. 

The  next  day  the  weather  was  beautiful,  and  she 
could  not  resist  going  down  Broadway.  But  that 


KALEEMA  195 

day,  with  the  clutch  at  her  heart,  she  saw  so  many  of 
the  old,  dreaded  things.  It  was  so  different  over  in 
the  avenue  and  the  other  places  where  she  and  Ger- 
trude often  went  together,  picking  up  bargains,  look- 
ing at  the  lovely  things,  and  having  tea  at  the  pretty 
little  shops.  In  those  places  it  seemed  so  clean  and 
bright  and  free  and  beautiful.  But  on  that  day,  after 
the  evening  when  Edna  and  Haydn  had  talked 
to  her  for  a  while,  the  old  loneliness  seized  her,  and 
she  straggled  back  to  the  old  haunt,  for  old  friends. 
Once  there,  she  saw  two  of  the  slowly-walking  old 
women  with  the  bedraggled  hats  and  dresses,  the 
soiled,  ragged  handkerchiefs  squeezed  up  in  their 
hardened  hands,  the  bloated  faces,  bedizened  by  the 
once-bright  ribbons  around  their  necks.  And  the 
handsome  young  women  were  mostly  so  bold,  and 
even  those  who  were  not  bold  were  questionable,  any- 
way, just  because  they  were  there. 
Sick  with  loathing,  she  went  home. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ONE  Thursday  late  in  May,  Kaleema's  maid 
(she  happened  to  have  one  just  then)  was  put- 
ting the  last  touches  to  her  toilet  preparatory  to  the 
weekly  sally  into  realms  unknown,  when  the  door- 
bell rang. 

Kaleema  had  only  a  few  minutes  before  returned 
from  market,  and  she  was  in  the  bedroom,  putting 
on  a  house-dress.  She  heard  voices,  and  then  the 
maid  came  to  her  door,  her  hat  on  and  her  bag  in 
her  hand. 

"  Some  one  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Barton,"  she  said. 
"  And  I  'm  going  now." 

With  which  announcement  she  closed  the  bedroom 
door  to  keep  her  mistress's  half -undressed  condition 
from  the  visitor,  and  was  gone. 

Kaleema  could  not  open  the  door  to  speak  to  her 
without  being  seen.  For  a  moment  she  stood 
puzzled.  It  could  not  be  Gertrude,  because  the  maid 
knew  her  and  would  probably  have  given  her  name. 
Kaleema  was  annoyed.  She  could  not  imagine  who 
it  might  be.  Harold's  mother  had  never  been  there 
since  that  first  time,  yet,  some  way,  she  was  the 
first  one  who  came  into  her  mind.  Kaleema  dressed 

196 


KALEEMA  197 

carefully  but  as  hurriedly  as  she  could.  She  did  not 
like  the  idea  of  being  closed  in  there,  with  the  un- 
known visitor  alone  outside. 

Finally  she  opened  the  bedroom  door.  She  could 
see  the  whole  living-room  from  the  threshold  where 
she  stood,  but  no  one  was  there. 

For  no  reason  that  she  could  explain,  her  heart 
gave  a  quick  throb  and  she  stepped  into  the  room. 
Still  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  She  nervously  pushed 
the  bedroom  door  wide  open,  as  if  to  clear  things 
and  gain  what  space  she  could.  To  break  the  silence, 
she  called  the  maid's  name,  but  there  was  no  reply. 
She  scarcely  expected  any,  for  she  was  sure  the  girl 
had  gone.  Then  she  took  a  few  steps  and  gained 
the  dining-room  door. 

There  stood  a  figure,  its  back  turned  toward  her, 
one  hand  leaning  on  the  table. 

It  was  a  woman  of  middle  height  and  with  a  shape 
as  if  her  corset  were  soft  and  old.  Her  black,  gray- 
streaked  hair  was  short.  She  had  on  a  small  black 
hat,  crooked  on  her  head,  a  shabby  black  skirt,  and 
a  soiled  tan  jacket,  the  sleeves  much  too  long.  What 
could  be  seen  of  her  fingers  showed  that  the  hand 
on  the  table  was  bare.  The  other  hand  was  held 
before  her.  She  must  have  heard  the  door  open 
and  Kaleema's  voice,  then  the  approaching  steps, 
but  she  did  not  move. 

For  an  instant  Kaleema  stood  still,  looking  at  her. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  her  heart  was  choking  her. 


198  KALEEMA 

An  unnamed  terror  seized  and  held  her;  then  she 
spoke  in  desperation. 

"Yes?  "she  said. 

No  answer. 

"  Did  you  want  to  see  me  ?  " 

Still  no  reply. 

With  a  step  forward  she  seized  the  woman's  arm. 
In  her  fear  her  hand  closed  on  it  like  a  vise.  She 
had  not  expected  to  find  it  flesh  and  blood  within 
her  grasp.  By  that  time  her  fear  was  named. 
Then  she  stood  staring  into  the  dark,  furtive  eyes. 
They  were  at  the  same  time  sluggish  and  inquiring. 
The  courage  of  desperation  came  to  Kaleema. 

"  Can  you  speak?  "  she  whispered. 

The  woman  smiled.     "Of  course,"  she  answered. 

"  God !  —  Mother !  "  she  cried,  and  sank  on  her 
knees.  "Mother!  Mother!"  she  screamed.  She 
covered  her  eyes  to  keep  out  the  vision. 

"  Hush,  Kaleema,  don't  scream,"  the  woman  said, 
stooping  down  and  shaking  her. 

"  My  God,  my  God !  "  Kaleema  groaned,  trem- 
bling in  every  inch  of  her. 

"  Hush,  Kaleema,"  the  woman  repeated. 
"  Did  n't  you  know  me?  I  thought  you  would  know 
my  back  —  frighten  you  less  than  if  I  faced  you. 
Don't  take  on  so !  " 

Kaleema  looked  up  and  stared  at  her,  then  she 
seized  her  hands  and  covered  them  with  kisses.  She 
stared  at  her  again,  as  if  she  could  not  believe  her 


KALEEMA  199 

eyes,  and  then  she  began  to  cry,  violently,  uncon- 
trollably, burying  her  head  in  her  arms  on  the  table. 
The  woman  coaxed,  scolded  and  shook  her,  but  she 
kept  on  crying  so  hysterically  that  at  last  the  woman 
went  into  the  other  room  to  leave  her  alone. 

In  a  few  minutes  Kaleema  got  control  of  herself 
and  stopped  sobbing  and  trembling.  She  followed 
her  mother,  put  her  hands  on  her  shoulders  and 
looked  at  her.  The  Gipsy  returned  the  look  as  best 
she  could,  with  her  furtive,  stupor-laden  eyes,  but 
she  soon  glanced  away.  Not  a  vestige  of  the  fire 
was  still  there. 

"  Mother,  look  at  me !  Speak  to  me !  Did  you 
mean  to  let  me  think  you  dead?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Don't  cry,  now,  again!  .  .  .  You  know  why." 

The  nervous  sobbing  was  choking  Kaleema,  and 
her  cold  hands  were  trembling;  then  she  controlled 
herself  and  stood  looking  at  her  mother  —  old  and 
haggard  in  her  middle-age,  worn  and  very  pallid, 
dull  and  heavy,  not  even  the  remainder  of  what  she 
had  been  in  her  daughter's  eyes.  It  had  all  dis- 
appeared in  the  last  two  years.  To  Kaleema  that 
meant  that  hope  for  her  was  gone.  She  saw  that 
the  crooked  hat  was  held  by  an  elastic  under  her 
short  hair,  and  she  saw  that  she  held  a  soiled  hand- 
kerchief balled  up  in  her  hands.  Her  face  was  the 
same,  yet  changed.  To  the  girl's  pitiful,  merciless 


200  KALEEMA 

scrutiny  it  revealed  that  the  woman  had  still  gone 
down. 

"Talk  to  me  —  talk  to  me,  Mother!  "  she  cried. 
She  buried  her  face  on  her  shoulder,  and  the  Gipsy 
awkwardly  patted  her  head.     She  had  never  known 
how  to  pet  her,  even  when  she  was  a  child.     In 
many  ways  she  was  not  quite  like  a  woman. 
"  Hush,  Kaleema,"  she  said,  "  don't  cry." 
"Why  did  you?  why  did  you?"  Kaleema  whis- 
pered. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  saw  that  her  mother  was 
looking  curiously  about  the  room. 

"  I  wanted  to  give  you  a  chance  —  alone,"  the 
Gipsy  said. 

"  Where  have  you  been?  "  said  Kaleema. 
Her  mother  pushed  her  hat  over  on  her  head  (it 
only  fell  into  another  horrible  angle)  and  walked 
away.  Kaleema  looked  after  her,  the  old  anxiety 
in  her  eyes.  Then  she  took  her  by  the  hand  and 
made  her  sit  down. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Mother?  "  she  repeated. 
"  How  could  you  live  without  me  ?  What  have 
you  done?  Why  don't  you  tell  me?  " 

"  There  's  not  much  to  tell,"  she  answered.  "  The 
day  after  the  wreck  they  got  names  mixed  up,  and  I 
lay  there  and  heard  them  give  mine  to  a  woman  who 
was  killed.  I  let  it  go  at  that." 

"  And  when  I  went  to  find  you  or  to  talk  to  people 


KALEEMA  201 

who  had  helped  you  or  seen  you  —  where  were 
you?" 

"  I  had  gone.  Only  my  head  was  hurt,  and  they 
cut  off  my  hair.  It 's  a  shame,  too.  I  feel  so 
queer."  When  she  looked  up  there  was  more  con- 
centration in  her  eyes.  "  You  are  married  ?  " 

The  realization  of  the  truth,  and  the  change,  was 
silently  passing  between  them.  In  the  girl's  mind 
were  her  infinite  pity  and  compassion  and  her  fear 
of  what  was  to  come. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  heard  it,"  said  her  mother.  She  pushed  her 
hat  over  the  other  way.  "  And  that 's  the  reason 
I  came.  I  'm  very  glad.  That 's  the  best  thing  to 
do,  Kaleema  —  'stead  of  changing  your  mind  and 
taking  fancies." 

Kaleema's  thoughts  were  scattering,  as  if  caught 
by  a  whirlwind.  The  uppermost  thought  in  her 
mind  was  of  Harold,  but  also  she  had  remembered 
that  her  money  was  nearly  gone.  Along  with  her 
fright  and  compassion  and  anxiety,  the  memory  of 
some  of  the  trifling  things  that  she  had  bought  was 
going  through  her  brain.  There  was  little  reason 
left  in  her.  She  kept  repeating  to  herself  the  price 
of  the  furs  and  of  the  bird-cage.  It  seemed  appal- 
ling, for  such  foolishness.  She  had  only  thirty 
dollars  left  in  the  savings  bank.  A  feeling  of  guilt 
and  selfishness  tore  at  her  and  made  her  hate  every- 


202  KALEEMA 

thing  she  had  bought.     She  forgot  that  it  was  part 
of  the  price  she  had  paid  for  Harold. 

"  Just  lately  I  heard  about  you,"  her  mother  was 
saying ;  "  that  you  jumped  a  show  and  were  mar- 
ried." 

Kaleema  knew  by  her  face  that  she  was  lying. 
She  saw  her,  too,  slowly  put  a  hand  into  one  of  the 
jacket  pockets. 

"Who  told  you?"  asked  Kaleema. 

"  I  hunted  up  the  manager,  Dillon  and  what 's 
his  name?  —  Skamon.  Had  a  time  finding  him, 
believe  me." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  I  was  with  them?  " 

"  Read  it." 

"What  paper?" 

"  I  don't  remember.  ...  Oh,  the  '  Billboard,'  I 
suppose,  or  '  Clipper  — ' ' 

"  Mother !  "  She  began  walking  the  floor.  Still 
the  Gipsy  was  lying. 

"  And  I  've  had  heart  trouble  again.  Doctor  says 
it 's  marvelous  how  it  keeps  going." 

"  You  had  no  money  —  what  have  you  been  do- 
ing?" 

"  Sewing,  dear,"  she  said  impressively.  "  And 
singing  a  little." 

"  Look  at  me,  Mother,"  Kaleema  demanded,  stop- 
ping before  her.  "  That  is  n't  true." 

"  In  Missouri,  dear,  in  a  factory,"  she  insisted 
with  increasing  animation.  "  And  I  'm  going  back 


KALEEMA  203 

soon,  darling.  I  came  to  find  Skamon.  He  has  a 
new  play,  and  he  wished  he  had  you.  He  '11  forgive 
you  everything." 

Kaleema  looked  at  her.  "  You  're  not  going 
back,"  she  said.  "  You  can't  go  away  from  me." 

"  I  must,  dear,"  very  wisely. 

"  What 's  in  your  pocket  ?  "  said  Kaleema,  reach- 
ing toward  it. 

"  Don't,  I  say!  "  cried  her  mother,  clutching  it  in 
terror. 

"  I  '11  give  it  back  to  you,"  said  Kaleema,  taking 
hold  of  her  wrist.  She  drew  out  a  box  and  saw  that 
it  was  half-full  of  white  powder. 

"  Medicine  —  for  my  heart,"  said  her  mother, 
snatching  it  from  her. 

"  Medicine ! "  repeated  Kaleema.  She  turned 
away  and  walked  across  the  room,  half-dazed  in  her 
anxiety.  Then  suddenly  a  thought  held  her.  "  It 's 
so  hard  to  get  now.  Did  you  get  that  here?  " 

"  No.     In  North  Dakota." 

"When?" 

"  Two  weeks  ago." 

The  old  woman  put  the  box  back  in  her  pocket, 
and  when  she  looked  up  she  found  Kaleema's  gaze 
fastened  on  her.  She  knew  what  she  had  done. 

"Dakota?"  the  girl  repeated  under  her  breath. 
She  came  back  slowly  and  stood  before  the  Gipsy. 
"  So  that  is  where  you  have  been.  That  is  where 
you  heard  about  me."  Suddenly  she  dropped  on 


204  KALEEMA 

her  knees  and  fiercely  seized  her  mother's  hands 
and  looked  at  her.  "  What  have  you  been  doing 
there?  Answer  me!  "  Her  voice  rang  out  beyond 
her  control. 

"  It 's  not  for  you  to  question  me,"  exclaimed  the 
Gipsy. 

"  Who  told  you  about  me  ?  "  cried  Kaleema,  trem- 
bling. "  I  know.  It  was  Adam  James.  Answer 
me !  answer  me !  You  were  with  him,  and  he  gave 
you  the  money  to  come  to  tell  me." 

The  Gipsy  laughed.  She  did  not  even  feel  how 
the  girl's  desperate  hands  hurt  her. 

"  God !  how  he  hates  me,  Kaleema !  "  Her  eyes 
were  gloating. 

Kaleema  fell  back,  shuddering,  choked  by  her 
repulsion.  She  got  to  her  feet  blindly.  She 
crossed  the  room  and  sat  down,  and  covered  her 
eyes.  For  all  the  years  that  she  had  been  old  enough 
to  work  and  to  understand  she  had  kept  the  Gipsy 
with  her,  and  had  kept  her  out  of  the  old  life.  When 
she  was  a  child  it  had  gone  on,  yes ;  but  the  moment 
that  she  could,  she  had  worked  and  fought  and 
struggled  for  them  both.  She  had  led  her  mother 
as  if  she  were  a  child.  She  had  scolded  her  and 
petted  her.  She  had  taken  her  on  the  road,  and 
she  had  settled  her  safely  and  left  her  behind  and 
sent  her  money,  and  hurried  back  when  the  season's 
work  was  done.  And  then  when  the  Gipsy  scented 
the  chance  for  freedom  she  broke  away.  Back  she 


KALEEMA  205 

had  gone.  Two  years  she  had  reveled  in  the  old 
roving.  Two  years  she  had  thrown  the  struggle  to 
the  wind.  Two  years  she  had  lived  again  as  it 
seemed  her  Creator  meant  that  she  should  live.  She 
went  back  to  the  ways  of  her  youth,  when  she  drifted 
freely  through  the  camps  and  over  the  plains. 
Sometimes  she  vaguely  thought  of  Kaleema.  She 
wondered  why  it  was  that  her  daughter  did  not 
want  to  drift,  too.  The  free  way  was  so  much 
better.  So  down  and  down  she  had  gone ;  and  never 
knew  that  she  was  going. 

Kaleema  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  her.  The 
girl  dared  not  speak,  for  fear  of  what  she  might  say. 
Suddenly  it  dawned  on  her,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  how  essentially  childish  her  mother  was. 
She  thought  for  the  first  time  what  a  free,  unguided 
thing  her  childhood  must  have  been,  and  of  the  way 
she  had  come  so  far,  alone,  with  that  wandering 
father.  Worst  of  all,  she  had  given  her  own  child 
so  much  of  that  dangerous  gipsy  wildness!  Ka- 
leema's  voice  was  hoarse  when  she  tried  to  speak. 

"  But  you  are  not  going  back  to  him." 

"  I  am,"  said  her  mother,  defiantly. 

"  No,"  cried  Kaleema.  "  Not  while  the  breath  of 
life  is  in  me.  You  shall  never  go.  I  shouldn't 
have  supposed  .  .  .  you  could." 

"  That  does  n't  come  very  well  from  you,"  her 
mother  said  angrily.  "  Now  I  can't  dance  and  sing, 
and  I  'm  not  pretty  any  more,  it 's  not  for  you  to 


206  KALEEMA 

preach  at  me  because  you  've  got  a  weddin'  ring 
on  your  finger,  and  tell  me  you  're  better  than  I  am. 
I  'm  just  as  good  as  the  day  you  were  born." 

Kaleema  went  to  her  and  took  her  hands  firmly. 
"  You  don't  understand  me,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  'm 
just  what  you  made  me.  All  the  good  you  knew 
you  put  in  me,  and  we  will  still  live  up  to  the  best 
there  is  in  us.  I  'm  trying  to  hold  on  to  all  the 
goodness  that  God  put  in  you  —  not  to  let  it  get 
so  far  away  that  it  will  just  torment  you  after  you 
have  done  the  wrong.  Your  life  has  been  hard,  and 
perhaps  God  had  enough  mercy  on  you  to  help  you 
to  create  a  kind  of  goodness  that  you  can  hear  and 
feel  and  see  —  a  kind  that  will  hold  you  always, 
always,  while  you  live." 

The  Gipsy  opened  the  old,  soiled  handkerchief 
and  began  to  cry.  Kaleema  went  on. 

"  Adam  James  did  n't  tell  you  what  had  happened 
when  I  was  out  there.  Before  he  knew  who  I  was 
he  began  talking  about  you  before  a  lot  of  people, 
boasting  about  you  and  how  he  hated  you,  and  I 
walked  over  and  struck  his  beastly  face  so  hard  that 
he  fell  over,  and  then  I  boasted  how  you  hated  him 
and  had  never  had  a  penny  from  him,  and  he  took 
you  to  get  even  with  me.  But  you  're  going  to  stay 
with  me  now." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  whimpered  the  Gipsy. 
"  I  come  to  see  you,  and  you  treat  me  like  a  child. 
Perhaps  I  should  n  t  have  come." 


KALEEMA  207 

Kaleema  stood  by  her  a  moment  and  patted  her 
shoulder  encouragingly,  then  she  walked  across  the 
room,  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  trying  to  think.  She 
came  back  and  took  the  old  rag  of  a  handkerchief 
from  her  mother,  threw  it  into  the  scrapbasket  and 
gave  her  her  own;  then  she  went  into  the  bedroom 
and  partly  closed  the  door.  She  had  to  be  alone. 
She  stood  there  motionless  in  the  quiet,  pretty  room. 
She  was  staring  at  the  pale  blue  wall,  but  what  she 
saw  was  Harold's  livid  face  as  she  had  seen  it  that 
night  in  Dakota,  when  he  followed  her  from  the 
office  of  the  hotel  and  came  into  her  room.  Then 
she  pulled  open  a  dresser  drawer  and  found  her  bank- 
book, just  to  be  sure.  She  threw  it  back  and  closed 
the  drawer.  When  she  went  to  the  door  to  speak 
to  her  mother  again,  her  voice  was  strained  and  her 
lips  were  dry. 

"Mother,  where  is  Skamon?" 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  'm  interested  in  that  new  play." 

"  Dillon  's  only  a  desk  in  an  office  in  the  Knicker- 
bocker Building,  but  his  name  is  in  little  letters  on 
the  door.  When  Skamon  feels  like  it  he  turns  up 
there.  .  .  .  Why?" 

Kaleema  did  not  reply.  She  went  back  into  the 
bedroom.  She  was  planning  what  she  would  do 
if  the  worst  came  when  she  talked  to  Harold  that 
night,  and  at  the  same  time  her  eyes  were  devouring 
the  little  room  where  for  nearly  five  months  she  and 


208  KALEEMA 

happiness  had  lived  —  strained  and  anxious  happi- 
ness but  still  the  nearest  approximation  to  great  and 
complete  happiness  that  she  had  ever  known.  She 
still  heard  her  mother's  voice  drawling  on. 

"  Good  play,"  she  was  saying.  "  Skamon  says 
things  have  changed  —  another  man  has  the  money 
in  with  Dillon.  I  thought  Dillon  would  be  Irish,  but 
he  's  a  Jew.  Suppose  he  had  another  name  when  he 
was  born.  Other  man  's  Irish  name,  too.  Perhaps 
he  's  French.  Ever  hear  of  him  ?  Make  'em  pay  — 
don't  let  'em  think  you  want  to  go.  Make  'em  — " 

Another  sound  suddenly  caught  Kaleema's  ear. 
It  was  a  key  at  the  outside  door.  She  went  out  and 
seized  her  mother's  arm  and  closed  her  into  the 
bedroom  just  as  Harold  came  in. 

"  Anything  the  matter  ? "  she  said,  as  she  faced 
him. 

"Matter?"  repeated  Harold.  "No.  I  'm  go- 
ing over  to  Pittsburgh  to-night  and  came  home  to 
get  my  things.  I  '11  have  dinner  downtown." 

He  started  for  the  bedroom.  Kaleema  was  stand- 
ing between  him  and  the  door. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Harold,"  she  said.  He  stopped 
and  looked  at  her.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
something.  Come  in  here." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  turned  him 
away,  and  he  followed  her  into  the  dining-room. 
He  saw  that  her  face  was  white. 

"  There 's  something  that  I  want  to  talk  to  you 


KALEEMA  209 

about,  but  I  'd  rather  wait  until  you  get  home.  Will 
you  let  me  get  your  things  —  " 

"  Cut  out  this  haggling,  Kaleema,  and  tell  me  what 
it  is,"  he  demanded.  "  What 's  the  matter  ?"  He 
looked  frightened. 

"  Why,  nothing,  Harold." 

"Of  course  there  is !  "     He  turned  to  go  back. 

She  caught  his  arm.  "  Wait  a  minute.  Some- 
body is  in  there." 

He  opened  his  white  lips,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  Wait  a  minute  and  let  me  explain." 

"Well?     Goon!" 

"  Hush !  Not  so  loud.  Something  has  hap- 
pened —  " 

"  And  somebody  is  there  —  " 

"  Yes." 

"Who?" 

He  bent  over  her,  the  pallor  of  anger  in  his  eyes. 

"It's  ...  my  mother." 

His  hand  dropped,  and  he  recoiled  from  her. 

"  She  nearly  frightened  me  to  death  —  " 

"  So  you  lied  about  her?  " 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  —  I  thought  so  —  " 

"  You  did  n't.     You  lied." 

"  I  'm  telling  you  the  truth,  Harold.  Until  she 
spoke  to  me  I  thought  that  she  was  dead." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh  and  turned  his  back  on  her. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  said. 

"  Do  ?  "  he  repeated.     He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 


210  KALEEMA 

table.     She  could  not  see  his  face.     "  Perhaps  she 
has  come  for  you.     If  so,  you  'd  better  go  with  her." 

"  I  may  have  to.  ...  My  money  is  nearly  gone." 
She  paused. 

"Yes?  "he  said. 

"  I  '11  soon  save  enough  to  last  her  for  a  little 
while,  and  then  I  can  come  home." 

No  answer. 

"  She  requires  so  little,"  Kaleema  said  pleadingly. 

"If  you  go,  you  will  stay,"  he  said.  "  Remember 
that."  ' 

"  Do  you  mean  ...  I  can't  come  home?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  faced  him,  horror  in  her  unbelieving  eyes. 

"  I  can't  .  .  .  come  back  to  you?  " 

"  No." 

"Harold!" 

It  broke  from  her  in  a  cry.  She  stood  there, 
her  hands  out,  not  daring  to  touch  him.  "  What 
shall  I  do  with  her?" 

No  answer. 

"Harold!" 

Silence. 

"Harold!" 

Silence  still ;  horribly  cruel,  caddish  silence. 

"  Don't  say  that  to  me,"  she  cried.  "  You  can't. 
You  can't.  You  must  n't.  Does  n't  the  happiness 
of  this  beginning  count  at  all?  I  am  just  the  same 
—  I  will  be  just  the  same  when  I  come  home.  By 


KALEEMA  211 

that  time  you  will  forgive  me,  for  you  will  want  me 
back  ...  as  I  shall  want  to  come.  Without  you 
life  would  be  torture  now.  If  you  kiss  me  now, 
you  will  forgive  me  before  I  go.  Because  I  love 
you !  And  when  I  come  back  I  will  beg  of  you  and 
beg  of  you  and  beg  of  you,  and  you  can't  send  me 
away.  And  these  five  months  will  beg  for  me,  all 
the  time  that  I  am  gone,  and  when  I  come  back  you 
will  forgive  me,  for  you  can't  send  me  away !  Har- 
old, won't  you  speak  to  me?  Won't  you  even  look 
at  me?" 

He  slowly  rose  from  the  table,  his  back  to  her. 

"  Speak  to  me.  For  God's  sake,  talk  to  me.  Tell 
me  why.  I  don't  want  to  go.  I  must  go.  I 
could ti't  live,  I  couldn't  breathe,  I  couldn't  see,  if 
I  let  her  go  alone.  Can't  you  understand?  There 
are  things  bigger  than  we  are  in  this  world.  Can't 
you  understand  ?  " 

He  went  to  the  outside  door.  She  held  out  her 
hands  to  him  in  silent,  speechless  appeal. 

"  I  '11  not  be  back  until  the  day  after  to-morrow," 
he  said. 

He  closed  the  door  and  dashed  downstairs.  Once 
on  the  sidewalk,  he  started  for  his  mother's  home 
almost  on  a  run. 

He  knew  that  he  was  free. 

And  he  was  hoping  that  Kaleema  would  not  make 
any  trouble  at  the  office. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

KALEEMA  stood  staring  at  the  door  that  had 
closed  behind  him.  Then  she  covered  her 
face,  pressing  her  hands  until  the  flesh  was  white. 
Then  suddenly  she  tore  her  hands  from  her  face 
and  bared  it  to  the  glare  of  light  from  the  window. 
This  was  what  she  should  have  expected  —  from  the 
beginning.  .  .  .  She  knew  it  now.  She  walked 
around  the  table,  her  hands  clasped  over  her  heart; 
and  then  she  went  into  the  deserted  kitchen  where 
she  could  close  the  door.  She  stood  there  motion- 
less for  some  time.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  looking 
into  the  eyes  of  God;  and  that  she  was  trying  to 
read  there  why  she  had  been  made  the  keeper  of  a 
thing  called  her  soul.  When  she  raised  her  head  her 
lips  twisted  in  a  smile. 

The  next  morning  Gertrude  Barton  received  this 
note: 

Dear  Gertrude :  Please  come  and  get  the  cage  and  the 
little  bird.  It  is  yours. 

I  shall  never  see  you  or  Harold  again.  From  the  bot- 
tom of  my  heart  I  thank  you  for  your  friendship,  and  for 
helping  me  to  hope  to  help  just  one. 

KALEEMA. 

212 


PART  III 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  first  streak  of  the  next  dawn  returned  con- 
sciousness to  Kaleema's  brain.  Before  she 
was  aware  of  it,  some  uncontrolled  instinct  had  made 
her  put  out  her  hand.  The  realization  came  with  a 
shock  that  was  stupefying.  For  a  moment  she  lay 
there  unable  to  open  her  eyes,  struggling  to  remem- 
ber the  reason  for  a  terrible  anxiety  which  oppressed 
her. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  opened  and  she  sprang  up  on 
the  bed  and  looked  across  the  strange,  grayish  room. 
Then  a  stifled  exclamation  of  relief  just  escaped  her 
lips,  and  she  pressed  her  trembling  hands  to  her  head 
to  quiet  the  unnecessary  fright. 

Her  mother  was  safely  there,  fast  asleep,  at  full 
length  on  a  cot.  Her  face  still  had  its  pallor,  but  it 
was  full  and  shiny  from  the  warmth  of  the  night 
and  her  heavy  slumber.  Her  short  black-and-gray 
hair  was  matted  against  her  cheek  where  it  had 
pressed  the  pillow.  The  covers  were  dragging  on 
the  floor  and  her  feet  were  bare. 

Kaleema  looked  wearily  around  the  strange  room. 
She  remembered  everything  by  that  time,  with  the 
dull,  sickening  memory  that  intrudes  and  convinces 

215 


216  KALEEMA 

that  it  is  no  dream.  Her  two  trunks  were  there,  and 
her  suitcase  and  umbrella;  and  her  mother's  clothes 
and  her  own  were  lying  scattered  on  the  chairs. 

After  all,  the  room  was  not  wholly  strange.  She 
was  back  in  West  Thirty-eighth  Street,  in  the  very 
house  where  she  first  met  Harold  —  where  the  hand- 
organ  monkey  ran  after  her  and  made  her  scream. 
She  had  come  back  here  because  it  was  cheap  and 
clean  and  respectable,  and  she  knew  the  nice  little 
woman  who  kept  the  house.  She  had  seen  this  room 
often  enough,  and  been  in  it ;  but  she  had  never  taken 
it  before  because  it  was  larger  and  more  expensive 
than  she  could  afford.  She  had  had  to  take  it  last 
night  because  there  were  two  of  them ;  and,  anyway, 
it  was  cheaper  now.  The  whole  house  was  cheap- 
ened by  a  big  office  and  loft  building  that  was  in 
course  of  erection  next  door,  which  filled  the  place 
with  dust  and  dirt  and  the  shriek  and  groan  of  ma- 
chinery. 

She  fell  back  on  the  bed  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  arms.  Yesterday  seemed  old,  old  and  far  away. 
Last  night  she  had  been  half -dead  with  exhaustion 
when  she  tumbled  her  mother  and  the  suitcases  and 
the  umbrella  and  herself  into  the  room  about  nine 
o'clock,  and  then  had  to  wait  for  the  trunks  an  hour 
and  a  half.  This  morning  her  brain  felt  stunned 
and  bruised  and  bleeding  with  all  the  deluge  of 
thinking  and  planning;  and,  hardest  of  all,  with 
struggling  to  keep  some  things  out  of  it. 


KALEEMA  217 

She  looked  at  her  watch  and  allowed  for  the  ten 
minutes  fast  that  she  still  kept  it,  as  she  used  to  for 
reaching  trains;  it  would  be  hours  before  she  could 
get  into  offices  or  find  anybody.  Harold  was  on 
the  train,  perhaps  not  asleep.  If  not,  he  must  be 
thinking  .  .  .  thinking.  .  .  .  She  closed  her  eyes 
and  covered  her  lips  tight  with  her  hands  to  keep 
back  the  reproach  and  the  twitch  of  pain.  Sihe  had 
promised  herself  that  yesterday,  while  she  was  hurry- 
ing to  get  things  packed  and  to  leave.  There  should 
be  no  blame,  even  if  the  haunting  ache  should  never 
go.  She  had  been  a  fool  and  a  child  ever  to  create 
an  idol.  She  told  herself  that  over  and  over  again. 
Her  world  did  not  admit  of  any  illusions;  it  was 
merciless  reality.  If  only  she  had  acknowledged 
that.  But  she  had  dreamed;  and  it  had  left  her 
with  her  lips  set  and  her  eyes  closed  in  the  cruel 
struggle  to  keep  out  the  regret  and  the  ache  and  the 
memory.  .  .  .  This  thinking  was  what  she  must 
not  do.  She  looked  at  her  watch  again.  Five 
minutes  had  gone  by.  She  rose  and  quietly  emptied 
the  suitcase  and  put  the  things  on  the  dresser  in  some 
kind  of  order.  That  took  her  to  the  mirror,  and 
when  she  saw  herself  she  started  back.  A  fine-look- 
ing object  she  was  to  go  out  on  Broadway  hunting 
for  work!  She  got  a  towel  and  rubbed  her  face 
to  put  some  color  into  it. 

It  seemed  hours  before  there  was  any  sound  in 
the  huge  skeleton  that  oppressed  the  windows,  but 


218  KALEEMA 

finally  she  heard  the  shoveling  of  coal  and  the  bang 
of  iron,  and  men's  voices,  and  she  knew  that  the 
first  workmen  had  come  to  start  the  machinery. 
After  a  while  the  near  and  the  distant  whistles  blew, 
and  the  piercing  scream  of  the  one  next  door  roused 
her  mother. 

"  You  up  and  dressed  already  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  but  it 's  early.  Plenty  of  time  for  a 
nap." 

Her  mother  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

At  ten  o'clock  Kaleema  was  sitting  in  the  waiting- 
room  of  the  office  of  the  shabby,  dissipated-looking 
man.  She  had  been  there  nearly  half  an  hour,  and 
he  had  not  come.  That  was  the  worst  of  these 
offices  —  waiting  interminably  for  some  man  that 
seemed  likely  never  to  come.  Probably  he  was  in  a 
barroom,  talking  about  nothing  important  under  the 
sun.  Her  mother  was  with  her,  sitting  in  a  corner, 
because  Kaleema  was  afraid  she  would  disappear  if 
she  lost  sight  of  her.  The  sleepy-eyed  office  boy  was 
sharpening  pencils  and  putting  them  in  a  fantastic 
row.  A  man  wearing  a  wig  and  devoid  of  eyebrows 
had  come  in  after  she  had  and  sat  limply  fanning 
himself  with  his  hat  and  looking  at  the  floor.  Ka- 
leema was  very  pretty,  but  she  had  on  too  much 
rouge.  That  was  partly  because  she  was  going  back 
into  the  fight  where  the  way  she  could  stand  out 
against  the  scenery  and  the  strength  of  her  voice 
were  among  the  first  considerations ;  and  also  because 


KALEEMA  219 

the  rouge  had  a  tremendous  psychological  influence 
upon  her.  She  rubbed  it  on  for  the  same  reason 
that  a  man  swallows  a  drink  of  whisky.  Instantly 
she  was  ready  to  meet  the  world  with  new  courage. 

After  a  while  the  door  opened  bruskly  and  the 
shabby,  dissipated-looking  man  came  in. 

"  Hul-lo!  "  he  said  in  surprise,  when  he  saw  Ka- 
leema.  He  glanced  at  the  Gipsy  and  nodded  at  the 
man,  then  Kaleema  followed  him  into  his  private 
room. 

She  was  n't  going  to  let  the  man  with  the  wig 
get  ahead  of  her.  She  had  been  there  first.  The 
old,  loathsome  fight  had  begun.  She  hated  herself, 
the  office,  the  boy,  the  little  telephone  switch-board, 
the  man  with  the  wig  —  almost  the  shabby,  dis- 
pated-looking  man.  This  one  turned,  and  his  big 
black  eyes  stared  at  her. 

"  I  'm  going  back  to  work,  Billy,"  she  said  quite 
calmly. 

He  swallowed  his  surprise,  unlocked  his  roll-top 
desk  and  sat  down.  She  was  trying  to  smile,  but 
that  could  not  deceive  him.  He  turned  in  his  chair 
and  looked  at  her. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said. 

She  had  forgotten  to.  She  hooked  up  a  chair 
with  her  foot  and  sat  down,  leaned  her  elbow  on  a 
ledge  of  the  desk  and  began  biting  her  nails.  She 
knew  that  she  was  not  deceiving  those  big  black 
eyes,  and  it  made  her  nervous. 


220  KALEEMA 

"  Not  — trouble,  girl?  "  he  said. 

She  gave  a  short,  dry  laugh.  "Of  course,"  she 
answered.  She  changed  the  subject  quickly.  "  I 
thought  possibly  you  might  be  in  on  a  summer  stock, 
or  know  about  one,  so  I  have  come  right  to  you.  I 
need  something  right  away.  That 's  my  mother 
out  there." 

"  Good  God!  your  mother?  " 

"  She  was  in  that  wreck,  but  she  was  n't  killed. 
They  got  names  mixed,  and  she  deceived  me  pur- 
posely. She  came  to  me  yesterday.  Do  you  know 
of  anything,  Billy?" 

He  started  to  close  the  door. 

"  Don't  close  the  door ;  I  want  to  keep  my  eye  on 
her." 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  'd  be  crying 
in  half  a  minute."  She  pulled  off  the  other  glove 
and  fussed  at  her  hair.  He  sat  down  again  and 
stared  at  the  carpet. 

"  I  have  closed  everything  until  August,"  he  said. 
"  And  then  it 's  musical,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  she  said.     She  was  still  smiling. 

"  I  have  n't  heard  of  anything  — 

"Of  course  it 's  only  one  chance  in  a  thousand 
that  you  would  —  " 

"  But  I  may.  .  .  .  What 's  the  matter?  " 

She  got  up  nervously  and  pushed  the  chair  out  of 
the  way. 


KALEEMA  221 

"  Ended,  Billy,  that 's  all.  Better,  anyway,  than 
hanging  fire." 

"  Don't  go.     Sit  down." 

"  I  'm  going  over  to  Dillon  now.  Gee !  but  I  hate 
to  do  that."  She  laughed.  "  Seems  to  me  that  I 
never  yet  swore  not  to  do  anything  that  God 
Almighty  did  n't  make  me  do  it." 

"  I  know,"  he  said.  That  was  the  best  of  him. 
Back  of  those  bold  eyes  was  a  comprehension  of 
many  things.  "  But  Carney  is  the  best  of  that 
crowd/* 

"  Sure,  but  I  don't  want  to  bother  him." 

"  That 's  his  business." 

"  I  know." 

That  was  ended. 

"  How  long  were  you  married  ?  " 

"  Nearly  five  months.     Long  time !  " 

"  Deucedly  long,  sometimes."  He  ought  to  know. 
Somewhere  in  the  world  he  had  a  wife  who  would 
not  give  him  back  his  freedom.  But  even  she  had 
not  taken  out  of  his  soul  the  longing  for  a  reason- 
able woman.  "  Were  you  ever  happy?  "  he  said. 

She  turned  away  and  started  for  the  door. 
"  Yes." 

"  Is  it  too  late  to  try  again?  " 

She  looked  back  at  him.  She  was  not  smiling 
now.  Instead,  the  old  cynicism,  intensified,  was 
there. 

"  Billy,  it  was  too  late  for  that  two  days  after  I 


222  KALEEMA 

was  married.     Only  I  was  a  fool  and  did  n't  know  it 
then."     She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  The  pity  is  we  can't  stay  fools,"  he  said. 
'  The  pity  is,"  she  answered,  "  that  women  are  n't 
born  knowing  that  decency  is  the  world's  best  joke." 

"  Don't,"  he  said.     "  Don't  talk  to-day." 

"  You  're  right,"  she  admitted. 

"  I  '11  look  around  this  morning,  and  if  you  don't 
hear  of  anything  will  you  come  back?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  lied.     She  knew  she  would  not. 

"Will  you,  really?"  He  was  thinking  that  she 
had  been  in  the  business  all  her  life,  and  his  own 
broken-down  self  was  the  only  one  she  could  turn 
to  when  she  was  in  trouble. 

"  Yes.     Good-by." 

When  she  got  over  to  Dillon's  office  it  was  10 :3O, 
and  he  was  there. 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Dillon.  Sit  down,  Mother." 
•  "Why,  hello,  Miss  West!"  he  exclaimed.  He 
had  just  finished  his  mail,  and  he  picked  up  a  big 
black  cigar.  "  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure. 
Seems  to  me  you  're  out  pretty  early  for  a  loidy." 
He  had  already  heard  from  Skamon  about  her 
mother. 

Kaleema  laughed.  "Yes,  a  heap  of  a  loidy!" 
She  sat  down  by  his  desk.  "  Say,  Mr.  Dillon,  I  'm 
goin'  back  to  work." 

He  raised  his  sleek  eyebrows,  but  he  did  not  even 
flutter  the  sleek  expression  of  his  brown  eyes. 


KALEEMA  223 

Henry  Dillon,  with  the  silky  black  hair  and  the 
murky  complexion,  had  acquired  perfect  self-pos- 
session. 

Kaleema  continued.  "  Are  you  sending  out  any- 
thing now?  " 

"  Company  opens  to-night,"  he  answered. 

It  seemed  to  Kaleema  that,  with  a  sickening  thud, 
her  heart  fell  and  stopped  beating.  Her  lips  went 
dry. 

"  What  woman  's  playing  the  lead?  " 

"  Miss  —  Miss  —  Miss  —  '  he  muttered,  al- 
though he  knew  perfectly  well,  and  fumbled  in  his 
desk  and  pulled  out  a  program,  "  Rawlins." 

He  handed  the  program  to  Kaleema.  She 
glanced  over  it.  Never  before  had  she  heard  of 
Eva  Rawlins. 

She  looked  sharply  at  Dillon.  "  Paiticular  friend 
of  anybody's  ?  "  she  asked. 

Dillon  calmly  returned  her  gaze.     "  No." 

"George  Carney's?"  she  probed.  (Such  things 
are  always  possible.) 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"  Are  you  perfectly  satisfied  with  her?  " 

"  No." 

"May  I  have  it?" 

That  was  what  he  was  waiting  for. 

"  You  jumped  one  of  our  shows,  Miss  West," 
observed  Mr.  Dillon. 

That  was  what  she  was  waiting  for. 


224  KALEEMA 

"  And  how  much  did  you  owe  me  when  I  did  it  ?  " 
she  inquired.  "  And  did  you  have  a  leadin'  man 
so  that  if  I  had  stayed,  the  company  'd  have  been 
workin'?" 

To  her  surprise,  he  did  not  remind  her  of  the 
money  that  Carney  had  taken  to  her  at  the  station. 

As  a  reason  for  moving  her  eyes  from  his  sleek 
face  she  looked  back  at  the  program. 

"  Gee !  "  she  said,  smiling,  "  Charley  and  dear  old 
John  Crichton!  Sarah,  of  course,  and  Skamon. 
'Camille'  is  it?" 

"  No,  stock,"  he  answered  pompously. 

That  sounded  well,  better  than  rep,  anyway.  She 
let  it  go,  but  she  wanted  to  ask  if  it  were  three-night 
stands  and  if  they  were  traveling  on  railroads. 
While  she  was  looking  at  the  program  he  was  look- 
ing at  her.  He  made  it  part  of  his  pompous  pose 
to  hate  all  actors,  and  he  had  always  especially  hated 
Kaleema's  intelligence.  Now  he  hated  her  new 
beauty  and  her  good  clothes  and  a  certain  new  and 
baffling  quality  of  personality.  He  did  n't  hate 
actors  half  so  much  when  they  were  shabby;  then 
he  felt  them  more  or  less  in  his  power. 

"  This  program  is  '  Camille,'  "  Kaleema  continued. 
"What  else?" 

He  was  ready  enough  to  boast  about  that. 

"  We  are  using  that  now  because  we  had  the  old 
stuff  together  and  some  of  the  people  are  up  in  the 
parts.  The  next  town  is  booked  for  a  week,  and 


KALEEMA  225 

the  three  last  plays  are  in  rehearsal.  And  we  are 
experimenting  with  '  The  Waiting  ' — " 

Her  eyes  flew  wide  open.  "'The  Waiting?"' 
she  repeated. 

He  nodded  calmly,  heroically  repressing  his  grati- 
fication. 

"  Good  Lord,  that  was  on  Broadway !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. He  calmly  nodded  again.  Certainly  it 
was  on  Broadway.  What  so  surprising  about  his 
having  something  that  was  on  Broadway?  She 
wanted  to  ask  him  if  he  had  stolen  it;  then  she  sud- 
denly remembered  something  —  her  mother's  saying 
that  an  Irishman  now  had  the  money  in  the  company. 
"  Yours  or  Carney's  ?  "  she  blurted. 

This  made  him  angry.  More  exhibition  of  her 
smartness. 

"  Carney  has  a  part  interest  in  it,"  he  replied. 
He  lied.  Carney  owned  the  entire  show.  "  A  good 
many  ex-pugilists  are  getting  into  the  show  business 
these  days,"  he  observed. 

"  Yes,  and  gettin'  out  of  it,  too,"  she  said.  He 
smiled.  "  With  their  pockets  lined,"  she  added. 
His  smile  disappeared.  She  did  n't  care ;  she  could 
stand  anything  but  to  hear  him  slur  George  Carney. 
"  '  The  Waiting '  was  a  failure,  the  papers  said," 
she  continued. 

"  It  won't  be  —  on  the  road,"  he  answered. 

"  And  I  suppose  they  were  so  mad  they  were  givin' 
it  away  —  scenery,  paper,  advertising  damn- fool 


226  KALEEMA 

author,  and  the  whole  thing,"  she  continued,  guess- 
ing. He  calmly  nodded  again.  "  An'  you  have  the 
New  York  run  back  of  you,  an' — well,  say,  what 
do  you  know  about  that !  "  She  was  lost  in  admira- 
tion. 

This  use  of  her  intelligence  pleased  him  in  spite 
of  himself.  Then  he  suddenly  remembered  how 
Carney  had  walked  the  floor  when  he  had  first  got 
possession  of  the  play,  wildly  rumpling  his  hair  and 
wishing  to  all  that  was  good  on  earth  or  in  heaven 
that  Kaleema  West  was  working.  A  slow  light 
came  into  Dillon's  sleek  brown  eyes.  Yes,  he  must 
admit,  she  did  have  some  imagination.  He  began 
fingering  papers  on  his  desk,  chiefly  for  an  excuse 
to  keep  his  eyes  on  them. 

"  We  hurried  the  show  out,"  he  continued,  "  to 
get  it  working.  We  have  our  eye  on  a  summer 
park- 

"  With  a  traction  company  back  of  ii?"  she  in- 
terrupted. 

Lord!  she  was  provoking.  Was  there  any  one 
thing  about  the  business  that  she  did  not  know  or 
imagine  ? 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  gravely.  "  It 's  too  early  to 
put  in  stock,  but  it 's  a  good  thing  to  have  the  com- 
pany together.  And  we  're  experimenting  with  the 
new  play,  of  course  under  another  name  for  the  try- 
out,  and  " — magnanimously — "  it  keeps  the  people 
working." 


KALEEMA  227 

This  brought  them  back  to  the  beginning.  He 
meant  that  it  should.  She  faced  the  crisis.  She 
knew  that  he  hated  her  and  that  he  realized  that, 
from  her  independence,  she  had  been  brought  back 
to  his  mercy.  She  gave  a  nervous  twist  to  her 
gloves  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Mr.  Dillon,  will  you  give  me  that  work?  " 

The  new  play  was  to  go  on  to-morrow  night.  He 
had  already  decided  that  Kaleema  West  was  going 
to  be  in  it.  Besides,  if  he  refused  her,  she  would 
probably  go  to  Carney  and  get  it  anyway. 

"  The  other  woman  is  already  working,"  he  said 
pompously. 

Kaleema  moistened  her  lips  and  put  her  hand 
on  the  desk.  "  She  can't  need  the  work  as  I  do," 
she  said.  "  It 's  the  first  time  I  ever  took  work  from 
another  woman,  but  I  need  it  desperately  —  now." 

From  the  beginning  of  rehearsals  he  had  wanted 
to  get  rid  of  Eva  Rawlins.  Her  work  was  bad  and 
worse  than  that. 

"  She  's  working  very  cheap,"  he  announced,  de- 
fiantly looking  at  her.  "  Twenty  dollars."  Another 
lie.  They  were  paying  her  thirty. 

"  My  God !  "  gasped  Kaleema. 

Dillon  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  pushed  back 
the  papers. 

"  Better  than  nothing,"  he  went  on ;  "  and  this  has 
been  a  very  bad  season,  and  they  can  live  cheap  in 
these  little  towns." 


228  KALEEMA 

Kaleema  got  up,  she  was  so  tortured  with  inde- 
cision. This  was  the  worst  that  had  ever  been  of- 
fered her. 

"  Oh,  that  bad  season  stuff  is  part  of  the  busi- 
ness," she  exclaimed,  "  only  it 's  too  much  when 
managers  start  tellin'  us  how  little  it  takes  to  live 
and  buy  wardrobe." 

He  thought  she  was  refusing.  "  We  '11  make  it 
twenty-two-fifty,  Miss  West,  because  we  know  you, 
but  that 's  the  best  we  can  do."  He  got  up,  as  if  to 
bow  her  out. 

Her  voice  was  hard  and  dry.  "  Very  well,  I  '11 
take  it,"  she  said. 

"  You  '11  have  to  work  to-night,  in  '  Camille,'  "  he 
said ;  "  and  the  new  play  goes  on  to-morrow,  and 
*  Oliver  Twist '  the  third  night." 

"  '  Camille  '  has  gone  completely  out  of  my  head. 
I  've  had  so  much  confusion  —  " 

"  Actors  have  to  expect  emergencies,"  he  said 
pompously.  He  fished  in  the  desk  until  he  found 
a  copy  of  the  part  in  the  new  play.  He  handed  it 
to  her. 

She  turned  it  over.  Her  hands  were  trembling. 
In  the  flood  of  her  trouble  everything  of  a  half-year 
ago  had  left  her  mind.  "  Seventy-five  sides  here," 
she  said.  He  nodded.  "  And  '  Camille '  is  so 
long-" 

"  Skamon  will  give  you  '  Oliver'  "  he  interrupted. 

"  And  this  is  the  only  way  ?  " 


KALEEMA  229 

"  The  only  way." 

He  would  get  rid  of  that  rag-bag  of  a  Rawlins 
at  any  risk.  Besides,  he  knew  Kaleema.  Once  her 
head  against  the  wind,  she  always  won. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  biting  her  white  lips ;  then 
she  folded  the  part  and  cleared  her  throat.  "  Have 
you  a  copy  of  '  Camille  '?  " 

He  found  one  and  gave  it  to  her. 

She  was  thinking  that  the  trunks  were  packed. 
"  When  does  the  train  leave  ?  And  how  long  is  the 
run?" 

"  Three  hours.  They  're  up-state.  Can  you  get 
off  by  one  o'clock?  It's  eleven  now." 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  you  sign  the  contract  now  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Her  lips  were  set.  She  was  signing  her- 
self into  at  least  two  weeks  of  torture,  until  she 
should  know  her  parts. 

She  read  and  signed  both  copies,  and  he  signed 
one  and  gave  it  to  her.  He  advanced  the  money 
for  her  railroad  ticket  and  gave  her  a  slip  of  paper 
with  the  railroad  and  name  of  the  town.  She  took 
it  from  him  and  picked  up  the  parts.  Then  she 
went  over  and  roused  her  mother  from  a  stupor, 
led  her  out  into  the  hall  and  closed  the  door.  Out 
there  she  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  She  was 
dizzy.  The  hall  and  the  elevators  and  the  whole 
world  were  black  and  swimming.  When  she  and 
her  mother  got  into  the  elevator  she  leaned  heavily 


230  KALEEMA 

against  the  side.  She  looked  so  ghastly  under  the 
rouge  that  a  man  stared  at  her.  When  she  got  out 
of  the  elevator  she  did  not  even  see  the  starter,  who 
smiled  because  he  had  been  there  a  long  time  and 
recognized  her. 

When  the  door  closed  Dillon  called  a  messenger, 
and  while  he  was  waiting  for  him  wrote  this  tele- 
gram to  Skamon :  "  Fire  Rawlins.  West  back  for 
twenty-two-fifty.  Works  to-night." 

When  presently  the  door  opened  and  the  messenger 
bobbed  in,  a  man  immediately  followed  him.  It  was 
Carney. 

Dillon  bounded  out  of  his  chair.  "  Some  luck ! 
You  get  your  wish,"  he  said,  and  he  handed  Carney 
the  telegram. 

Carney  read  it,  then  he  raised  his  head  and  stared 
at  Dillon,  his  face  drawn  with  surprise. 

"She's  been  here?" 

"Yes,"  smiled  Dillon.  "I  told  her  Rawlins  is 
working  for  twenty." 

Carney  reread  the  telegram.  It  had  n't  all  got 
through  his  head  the  first  time.  Then  when  he 
looked  at  Dillon  his  eyes  were  pale  with  anger. 
He  tore  up  the  telegram  before  he  trusted  himself 
to  speak.  He  meant  never  to  have  a  quarrel  with 
Dillon  for  fear  that  he  should  kill  him. 

"  That  was  a  rotten  trick,"  he  said,  with  an  oath. 

Dillon's  tight  lips  parted  for  a  retort  and  accusa- 


KALEEMA  231 

tion,  but  for  once  Carney's  wits  saved  his  big  fist  a 
blow. 

"  How  long  do  you  suppose  she  would  stay  —  for 
that  —  when  she  got  a  chance  to  go?  And  if  any- 
body can  pull  us  through,  she  can." 

Dillon  shut  his  mouth  and  turned  away.  Then 
he  slammed  out  of  the  office  and  banged  the  door. 
Carney  sat  down  at  the  desk  to  write  Skamon  an- 
other telegram.  His  glance  fell  on  the  contract  with 
her  name,  and  he  tore  it  up  and  threw  it  away.  Then 
he  wrote  two  messages.  The  one  to  Skamon  read : 
"  Kaleema  West  back.  Works  to-night.  Thirty 
dollars.  Do  your  best  about  Miss  Rawlins.  George 
Carney." 

The  second  one,  to  Kaleema  West  in  care  of 
Skamon,  read :  "  This  engagement  pays  you  thirty 
dollars  a  week.  George  Carney." 

Could  he  have  seen  her  in  the  elevator  she  would 
not  have  worked  that  night. 

When  the  messenger  had  gone  Carney  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor  and  stared  at  the  wall.  Ka- 
leema back.  Something  must  have  happened. 

He  had  intended,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  go 
up  to-morrow  for  the  first  performance  of  "  The 
Waiting."  Now  he  would  not  go. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ABOUT  2:30  o'clock  that  afternoon  (it  was 
Thursday)  Charley  Forbes,  his  hat  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  his  feet  on  the  verandah  railing,  the 
pink  ring  still  adorning  his  saffron  finger,  was  the 
sole  human  decoration  of  the  front  of  a  certain  hotel, 
when  a  boy  rode  up  on  a  bicycle  and  pulled  two 
telegrams  out  of  his  pocket.  He  guessed  that  the 
stranger  on  the  porch  belonged  to  the  show.  At  any 
rate,  he  looked  it. 

"  Harry  Skamon  here?  "  inquired  the  boy. 

"  I  '11  take  them,"  said  Charley,  letting  his  chair 
down  on  its  front  legs  and  closing  the  part  he  was 
studying,  fhe  poor  fellow's  thick  head  was  nearly 
bursting  with  study.  He  had  done  nothing  for  days 
and  nights  but  exist,  with  his  fagged  brain  going 
over  and  over  those  infernal  lines. 

He  took  the  telegrams,  signed  for  them,  and  the 
boy  rode  off. 

"  Harry ! "  he  called  at  the  office  door.  He 
thought  Skamon  was  nearby.  "  Telegrams." 

"  I  '11  take  them  to  him,"  said  Sarah.  "  Don't 
shout  so !  This  is  a  decent  hotel.  Where  are  they 

from?" 

232 


KALEEMA  233 

"  How  do  I  know?  "  snapped  Charley.  "  You  '11 
have  to  ask  the  sportin'  editor  of  the  *  War  Cry/  as 
Kaleema  used  to  say." 

Kaleema!  Scarcely  a  day  went  by  that  some  of 
them  did  not  affectionately  speak  her  name. 

Sarah  looked  at  the  telegrams;  and  then  she 
uttered  an  exclamation.  Charley  stared.  "  Look  at 
this !  "  she  commanded,  and  showed  him  the  one 
addressed  to  Kaleema  West,  care  of  Skamon. 
Charley's  jaw  dropped.  Then  Sarah  lost  all  profes- 
sional decency  and  tore  open  the  manager's  tele- 
gram. 

What  she  discovered  she  was  too  professional  to 
disclose  to  Charley,  but  cruelly  left  him  standing 
with  his  mouth  and  the  office  door  wide  open,  while 
she  turned,  stepped  on  Trilby,  slapped  her  for  yelping 
in  that  decent  hotel,  and  then  rushed  to  find  Harry. 
Fifteen  minutes  later  Harry  was  interviewing 
Miss  Eva  Rawlins.  He  told  her  that  he  was  worried 
about  her  in  those  parts  and  how  rotten  she  had 
been  that  morning  at  the  rehearsal. 

The  train  was  only  ten  minutes  late.  Sarah  and 
Charley  were  down  at  the  station.  There  would  be 
no  rehearsal  that  afternoon  —  unless  Kaleema 
wanted  it,  on  account  of  the  new  people. 

When  Kaleema  stepped  off  the  train  she  threw 
her  arms  around  Sarah,  and  for  a  moment  she  could 
not  speak;  then  she  shook  hands  with  Charley  and 
introduced  her  mother.  Sarah  and  Charley  were 


234  KALEEMA 

surprised,  but  both  of  them  exhibited  most  praise- 
worthy manners,  and  Charley  took  the  suitcase,  quite 
in  defiance  of  all  strictly  professional  proceedings, 
and  a  box  that  Kaleema  was  carrying.  The  box 
contained  knickerbockers  for  Oliver  and  a  marked- 
down  evening  dress  that  she  was  forced  to  buy  at  a 
cheap  store  on  their  way  to  the  train,  because  she 
had  so  little  wardrobe  left.  She  had  just  sixty-five 
cents  in  the  whole  world  when  she  stepped  off  that 
train  and  met  Sarah  Skamon. 

Charley  walked  ahead  with  Mrs.  West  and  tried  to 
talk  to  her.  Sarah  walked  along  with  Kaleema,  but 
she  did  not  speak.  There  was  too  much  of  under- 
standing between  them.  Besides,  a  strange  look 
in  the  girl's  eyes  had  warned  her.  Never  before  had 
Sarah  Skamon  seen  such  an  expression.  It  was  not 
only  trouble.  It  was  a  sort  of  still,  half-unbelieving 
horror. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  the  telegram.  "  I 
almost  forgot  this,  Kaleema,"  she  said,  and  handed 
it  to  her. 

Kaleema  took  it  before  she  realized  what  it  was ; 
then  it  nearly  fell  from  her  nerveless  fingers. 

"Harold!  Harold!  Harold!"  throbbed  through 
her  mind  and  seemed  to  keep  her  heart  from  beat- 
ing. She  walked  along,  holding  it  as  if  it  were  burn- 
ing her  hands.  After  they  had  gone  half  a  block 
she  folded  it  and  put  it  in  her  purse.  She  had  de- 
cided not  to  open  it. 


KALEEMA  235 

But  it  had  driven  the  last  three  terrible  hours' 
hard  work  out  of  her  brain.  There  on  the  train 
she  had  been  struggling  with  Camille's  long  speeches. 
She  could  concentrate  on  nothing.  It  was  not  only 
the  thought  of  that  outrageous  twenty-two  dollars, 
and  of  Harold,  and  the  whole  thing,  but  something 
else  was  gripping  her  heart  —  something  new  and 
poignant  and  terrifying.  The  lines  and  the  cues 
stared  at  her  from  the  paper  like  perfect  strangers. 
In  desperation  she  put  it  away  and  read  over  the  part 
of  "  The  Waiting."  It  was  splendid.  Carney 
would  succeed.  Then  came  the  telegram  to  drive 
out  all  memory. 

After  she  had  registered  at  the  hotel,  Sarah  spoke 
to  her. 

"Want  a  rehearsal,  Kaleema?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered. 

She  beckoned  to  her  mother,  and  they  followed 
the  bell-boy  upstairs.  The  Gipsy  lagged  behind  in 
the  hall  and  took  some  of  the  white  powder.  In  a 
few  minutes,  after  she  had  seen  Skamon,  Kaleema 
hunted  up  the  leading  man  and  went  over  their 
scenes  with  him.  He  was  rather  nervous.  He 
did  n't  know  the  lines  very  well  and  he  had  never 
before  played  the  part.  He  was  a  serious-minded, 
good-looking  fellow.  He  and  Kaleema  had  some- 
times seen  each  other  in  the  offices.  He  had  had  to 
take  whatever  came  first  this  summer  because  his 
wife  was  not  well  and  was  not  working. 


236  KALEEMA 

The  Gipsy  slept  all  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  and 
Kaleema  tried  to  study,  always  with  that  telegram 
burning  into  her  brain,  driving  out  the  words  that 
her  lips  were  unmeaningly  repeating.  She  kept 
tracing  out  how  Harold  had  found  her.  Probably 
he  had  telephoned  from  Pittsburgh  to  somebody  — 
perhaps  to  Gertrude  —  after  that  night  on  the  train, 
when  he  had  had  time  to  see  that  he  had  lost  her. 
He  knew  where  to  find  Billy  (the  shabby,  dissipated- 
looking  man),  and  probably  he  had  sent  somebody  — 
maybe  Gertrude  —  to  him,  and  he  had  said  to  go  to 
Dillon.  That  was  easy  enough.  That  was  the  way 
the  telegram  had  reached  her.  But  he  did  n't  know 
that  everything  was  ended. 

Somewhere  a  clock  in  the  town  struck  six.  She 
covered  her  eyes  and  tried  to  study.  It  was  impos- 
sible. Neither  she  nor  her  mother  wanted  anything 
to  eat,  so  she  took  the  Gipsy  and  went  over  to  the 
theater  early.  Sitting  there  in  the  hotel  looking  at  a 
page  was  useless.  There  was  almost  no  place  to 
put  her  mother  in  the  dressing-room;  nevertheless 
she  took  her.  She  could  not  endure  the  added 
anxiety  of  leaving  her  at  the  hotel,  perhaps  to  run 
away. 

Kaleema  never  beheld  Eva  Rawlins.  But  all  that 
afternoon  and  evening  she  was  haunted  by  the 
thought  of  what  she  had  done  to  her.  It  followed 
her  for  years  after.  She  never  knew  when  Skamon 
fixed  it  up  with  Eva,  when  their  trunks  changed 


KALEEMA  237 

places  in  the  dressing-room,  or  when  she  took  her 
departure.  But  she  knew  that  for  a  week  Eva  Raw- 
lins  had  been  slaving  over  study  and  at  rehearsing. 
That  was  bad  enough,  but  later  on  a  woman  in  the 
company  told  her  that  she  had  bought  a  dress  on  the 
strength  of  Dillon's  promises,  and  that  Skamon  had 
given  her  nothing  but  a  ticket  back  to  New  York. 
It  made  Kaleema  feel  faint  to  think  of  it.  She 
herself  had  been  through  the  same  thing.  That 
made  it  worse. 

Kaleema  had  to  wear  her  own  new  dress  that  night, 
so  the  first  thing  she  did  at  the  theater  was  to  try  it 
on.  Then  she  got  out  her  make-up  and  the  lights 
and  her  other  clothes ;  the  book  was  spread  open  on 
the  shelf  and  her  lips  moved  ceaselessly  over  the  long 
speeches.  She  kept  reminding  herself  that  she  was 
working  with  new  people  and  must  not  throw  them 
out.  It  was"  Carney's  show;  and  if  to-night  took 
the  very  life  out  of  her,  she  would  not  kill  it.  That 
was  easy  enough  to  say,  but  when  she  kept  think- 
ing—  thinking.  .  .  . 

"  Half-hour!  "  called  John  Crichton. 

A  breath  of  exclamation  escaped  her.  She  had 
just  started  making  up.  She  knew  that  Carney 
was  n't  worried  because  he  trusted  her.  Why 
should  n't  he?  She  had  played  this  part  half  a  sea- 
son. She  ought  to  know  it  backwards.  Her  brain 
felt  numb  —  except  for  thinking,  thinking  of  "  The 
Waiting  "  and  the  telegram  and  Eva  Rawlins. 


238  KALEEMA 

"Fifteen  minutes!" 

It  was  very  still  in  the  dressing-rooms.  All  the 
new  people  were  nervous,  and  the  old  ones  were 
nervous  on  account  of  them.  But  Kaleema  would 
be  all  right,  anyway ;  she  was  always  all  right.  And 
she  was  of  the  most  importance. 

"  Overture  and  first  act !  " 

She  had  to  hold  to  a  chair  to  keep  herself  from 
going  to  Skamon  and  telling  him  that  she  could  n't 
work.  She  began  thinking  of  excuses  to  give  him. 
Then  she  picked  up  the  book,  and  before  she  knew 
it  she  was  pacing  the  back  of  the  stage,  holding  her 
skirts  out  of  the  dust,  shivering  and  her  teeth  chat- 
tering. She  was  still  staring  at  the  words  without 
seeing.  The  night  was  chilly,  but  all  the  doors  and 
windows  back  there  were  open,  and  the  damp  air 
was  blowing  on  her.  It  seemed  to  strike  to  her  very 
heart.  Several  of  the  company  were  there,  glancing 
at  her,  but  she  did  not  see  them.  She  was  so  dis- 
tracted that  even  the  stage  men  were  looking  at  her. 
Suddenly  she  threw  the  book  down  on  the  floor  in 
a  corner.  The  leaves  fell  together.  It  was  the  last 
of  the  overture,  and  it  found  her  in  terror.  Her  lips 
were  uncontrollable  and  her  mind  felt  empty.  Her 
knees  were  shaking  under  her.  Something  must 
happen  —  something  must  break.  The  next  instant, 
not  seeing,  thinking  or  hearing,  she  ran  back  to  her 
dressing-room.  She  searched  for  the  purse,  throw- 
ing things  everywhere.  Nothing  could  be  worse 


KALEEMA  239 

than  this.  Her  shaking  hands  tore  the  telegram 
open. 

'  This  engagement  pays  you  thirty  dollars  a  week. 
George  Carney." 

"  H'm,"  she  breathed.  She  was  leaning  heavily 
against  the  shelf.  "  Oh !  " 

She  heard  voices  on  the  stage.  The  curtain  was 
up.  The  dusting  had  commenced  and  Nanine  and 
Varville  were  talking. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said  again,  and  then  she  laughed  so 
that  it  roused  the  Gipsy.  She  flung  her  hands  into 
the  air  and  closed  her  eyes.  Then  she  rushed  out 
and  closed  the  door. 

That  night  there  was  a  good  house,  the  stage  was 
well  set,  and  the  part  of  Camille  was  beautifully, 
splendidly,  passionately  played. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AFTER  the  show  it  was  very  quiet  among  the 
dressing-rooms.  Eleven  o'clock  had  come. 

Kaleema  and  her  mother  were  the  last  to  leave 
the  theater,  because  Kaleema  waited  to  take  out  her 
clothes  for  to-morrow  night.  Her  brain  was  re- 
lieved and  she  felt  rested.  But  still  the  strange, 
twisted,  burning  look  was  in  her  face. 

She  and  her  mother  went  to  a  restaurant  and  got 
something  to  eat  before  they  walked  back  to  the  hotel. 
Once  in  their  room,  the  Gipsy  pulled  off  her  clothes 
and  tumbled  into  bed.  Kaleema  got  out  the  new 
part  and  studied  until  three  o'clock.  She  was  awake 
again  at  six,  and  she  lay  there  for  an  hour  trying 
to  be  quiet,  but  her  hands  were  clenched  and  her  eyes 
were  open.  She  did  not  want  to  look  at  the  part 
again  before  the  rehearsal.  At  seven  she  dressed, 
and  then  she  roused  her  mother.  As  she  went  to 
her  she  thought  that  she  looked  very  ghastly.  She 
wondered  what  would  become  of  her  when  the  pres- 
ent supply  of  powder  was  gone.  How  she  pitied 
her! 

At  ten  they  were  at  the  theater  for  rehearsal. 

Kaleema  knew  without  being  told  how  hard  they 
240 


KALEEMA  241 

had  worked  over  the  new  play.  It  was  George  Car- 
ney's first  venture,  and  here  she  was  being  thrown 
into  it  in  one  day.  It  was  n't  fair  to  him.  She 
ought  to  have  gone  to  him  about  it.  Eva  Rawlins 
should  have  been  kept  for  this  night  at  least.  This 
town  did  not  much  matter,  but  if  it  failed  here  it 
might  disgust  and  discourage  him.  Of  course  it 
was  not  going  on  now  under  its  rightful  name. 
Neither  was  the  New  York  run  to  be  mentioned. 
Carney  certainly  was  experimenting.  He  had 
doubled  on  some  of  the  parts  to  cut  down  expense, 
and  he  had  cut  out  one  scene  that  he  concluded  had 
dragged  the  whole  thing  on  Broadway. 

The  play  had  managed  to  hang  on  for  two  months 
in  New  York,  but  it  had  nearly  brought  the  author 
and  the  star,  a  woman,  to  financial  ruin.  The  man- 
ager got  out  at  the  end  of  the  first  week,  but  they 
stuck.  They  had  faith  in  it,  for  the  thing  had  a  big 
theme.  The  work  in  it  had  given  the  actress  keen 
satisfaction  and  had  made  the  reputation  of  more 
than  one  man  and  woman.  After  the  two  months 
had  gone  by  and  the  box-office  receipts  suddenly 
showed  a  renewed  ability  for  dwindling,  the  star  and 
the  author  cursed  all  human  intelligence  and  were 
ready  to  set  fire  to  the  scenery.  In  that  state  of 
mind  the  author  went  into  a  cafe  one  night  to  drown 
his  troubles ;  but  when  he  had  reached  only  the  stage 
that  made  him  ready  to  weep  on  almost  anybody's 
shoulder,  he  found  himself  talking  to  a  man 'whose 


242  KALEEMA 

name  turned  out  to  be  Carney.  By  closing  time  they 
had  come  to  some  sort  of  agreement.  When  Carney 
left  him  he  did  not  know  whether  or  not  the  dis- 
traught dramatist  was  sober  enough  to  remember  it 
the  next  morning,  but  he  did  know  that  he  himself 
had  pledged  a  good  part  of  his  whole  life's  savings. 
That,  however,  was  not  a  great  deal,  money  having 
a  way  of  slipping  from  George  Carney's  ringers.  He 
had  saved  it  only  when  it  came  in  bunches,  so  that 
it  seemed  worth  saving;  and  he  smiled,  on  his  way 
home,  as  he  recalled  some  of  the  times.  He  was 
also  negotiating  just  then  about  the  summer  stock 
company.  That  would  take  more  of  the  money. 
If  he  won  out,  all  right;  if  he  lost  the  whole  thing, 
he  would  get  out  of  the  business.  It  was  nothing 
but  gambling,  anyway.  He  had  determined  never 
again  to  have  any  connection  with  Dillon  or  Skamon. 
Then,  as  he  walked  home  that  night,  he  had  realized 
that  if  he  were  going  into  this  road  company,  Dillon 
was  the  only  available  man  he  knew  who  could  be 
worth  something  to  him.  Skamon  should  be  kept 
out  of  the  business  end. 

The  next  morning  the  dramatist  did  remember. 
He  was  not  likely  to  forget  anything  so  materially 
to  his  advantage.  What  any  sane  man  wanted  of 
"  The  Waiting  "  was  more  than  he  could  imagine, 
but  he  had  a  very  special  and  urgent  need  for  Car- 
ney's money.  Carney,  however,  knew  what  he 
wanted  of  the  play.  It  was  a  good,  strong  type 


KALEEMA  243 

of  high-class  melodrama,  and,  intelligently  acted, 
could  be  made  a  splendid  sporting  chance  as  a  play. 
Besides,  it  had  Broadway  back  of  it  and  it  was 
cheap.  And,  more  than  all,  it  was  thrown  at  his 
head  by  fate  at  a  moment  when  he  was  drifting. 
Inside  of  two  weeks  the  deal  was  made.  The  price 
of  the  play  included  all  the  paper  on  hand  and  the 
scenery.  They  almost  gave  it  to  him  for  carting  it 
out  of  their  sight.  Next  came  the  contract  with 
Dillon,  who  admitted  that  Carney  had  had  a  streak 
of  good  luck  and  had  shown  good  judgment,  and 
that  he  was  not  averse  to  taking  a  small  chance  on 
the  outcome. 

The  Broadway  company  had  had  four  weeks  of 
rehearsals  on  "  The  Waiting."  In  one  week 
Skamon  whipped  into  some  sort  of  shape  "  The 
Waiting,"  "  Oliver  Twist,"  and  "  Camille."  Years 
ago,  when  Fourteenth  Street  was  the  center  of  things 
theatrical,  that  same  Harry  Skamon,  so  shabby  now, 
was  of  importance.  If  his  common-sense  had  been 
equal  to  his  ability.  .  .  .  Anyway,  his  present-day 
speed  was  no  more  ridiculous  than  George  Carney's 
tampering  with  the  manuscript.  But  the  noted 
dramatist  and  the  noted  actress  had  made  a  mess  of 
it,  had  n't  they  ? 

Skamon  hurried  the  rehearsal,  and  by  twelve 
o'clock  they  left  the  theater.- 

Kaleema  settled  her  mother  in  the  hotel  parlor  for 
a  while,  and  then  she  went  to  her  room  and  closed 


244  KALEEMA 

the  door  to  be  alone.  She  looked  at  the  part,  and 
then  she  held  her  head  tight  with  her  hands.  She 
had  studied  like  this  before,  she  kept  reminding  her- 
self. Why  not  now?  She  opened  the  part  and 
began  to  study.  Last  night's  work  did  n't  seem  to 
have  done  much  good.  She  felt  dull,  as  if  her  whole 
body  were  going  to  sleep  and  her  eyes  were  closing. 
It  came  into  her  mind  that  she  would  gladly  give  half 
her  life  if  they  could  get  Eva  Rawlins  back.  She 
could  save  her  this  torture.  She  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  started  for  the  door,  scarcely  knowing  what 
crazy  notion  was  in  her  mind.  Then  she  laughed 
noiselessly  and  sat  down  again,  and  again  began  to 
study.  It  had  to  be  done.  Presently  she  forgot 
Harold  and  other  things,  and  Eva  Rawlins.  .  .  . 
The  door  slowly  opened. 

"  It 's  two  o'clock,"  said  her  mother. 

"  Mercy !  dear,  it  seems  only  a  minute,  and  we  're 
both  of  us  hungry." 

She  threw  the  part  on  the  bed,  and  they  went 
downstairs.  They  met  Sarah,  who  told  them  that 
Harry  had  had  a  telegram  from  Carney  that  he  was 
detained  and  was  not  coming. 

In  half  an  hour  Kaleema  was  studying  again. 
Pound,  pound,  pound.  Two  or  three  times  she  got 
up  and  walked  over  to  the  window.  Out  there  was 
the  same  old  story.  The  actors  were  on  the  hotel 
veranda,  and  girls  of  all  conditions  and  classes  were 
parading  around  to  look  at  them.  Up  at  the  corner 


KALEEMA  245 

she  saw  Charley  Forbes  walking  off  with  a  girl  in  a 
pretty  dress,  with  her  hair  in  a  braid  hanging  down 
her  back.  Probably  she  had  a  "  strict  "  father  and 
mother  somewhere,  with  their  heads  stuck  in  the  sand 
like  wise  old  ostriches.  But  this  was  not  study. 
She  went  at  it  again.  Pound,  pound,  pound.  Was 
it  never  coming ! 

At  five  o'clock  she  hunted  up  Charley.  She  had 
an  important  scene  with  him  and  she  dreaded  it. 
That  rich  man's  son  was  nearer  anything  on  earth 
than  an  actor.  He  was  always  going  up  in  the  air 
and  standing  stock-still  and  staring,  like  a  wooden 
image.  When  she  found  him  he  started  in  to  give 
her  some  advice,  but  she  promptly  told  him  very 
nearly  what  she  thought  of  him. 

When  7 :3<D  stared  her  in  the  face  it  seemed  much 
too  soon,  but  she  pulled  herself  together,  took  her 
mother,  and  again  went  over  to  the  theater.  She 
made  up  and  dressed  hurriedly. 

"  Half-hour!  "  called  old  John  Crichton. 

She  sat  down  to  study.  Charley  came  in  for  soap. 
She  told  him  he  could  n't  have  it ;  then  she  told  him 
to  take  it  and  keep  away  from  her  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  Then  the  "  heavy  woman  "  in  the  next 
dressing-room  began  talking.  The  rest  of  them 
knew  their  lines,  or  were  supposed  to.  Charley  had 
gone  in  there  in  his  quest  for  conversation,  and  she 
was  telling  him  that  she  never,  never  studied  after 
she  got  to  the  theater.  Kaleema  knew  she  lied  — 


246  KALEEMA 

last  night  she  had  caught  her  doing  it.  Charley 
agreed  with  her;  he  himself  could  fake  out  of  any- 
thing. 

That  was  too  much  for  Kaleema.  She  jumped 
up  in  desperation. 

"Fifteen  minutes!"  called  old  John  Crichton. 

Kaleema  suddenly  discovered  that  the  Gipsy  was 
standing  beside  her. 

"  My  heart  feels  so  bad  to-night,"  she  said. 

"  See  here,  Mother,"  cautioned  the  girl,  "  don't 
you  touch  another  bit  of  that  powder." 

Then  she  stood  at  the  shelf  and  her  dry  lips  kept 
repeating  the  words  mechanically.  From  the  first 
act  her  nervous  fingers  kept  turning  over  to  the 
climax  in  the  third  act.  Then  back  to  the  first  act 
again.  If  she  lived  through  the  first  act  it  was  time 
enough  then  to  worry  about  the  third.  She  lost 
all  patience  with  herself.  She  had  never  felt  like 
this  before.  She  had  worked  as  hard  as  this  for  a 
week  at  a  time,  but  never  had  had  hysterics  until 
Saturday  night  after  the  show,  when  there  was 
plenty  of  time  for  them. 

"  Overture  and  first  act !  "  called  old  John  Crich- 
ton. 

"  There !  "  exclaimed  her  mother.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  get  very  much  excited. 

"  You  stay  right  in  here,  Mother,"  said  Kaleema. 
"  Don't  once  come  near  the  wings.  To-night 
there  's  too  much  confusion." 


KALEEMA  247 

Her  voice  was  steady,  but  nervousness  had  set  her 
teeth  to  chattering.  She  picked  up  the  part  and 
deliberately  walked  to  her  first  entrance.  Two  of 
the  stage  men  were  standing  there. 

"  Whenever  you  see  this  part  lying  around  to- 
night please  be  very  careful  not  to  disturb  it,"  she 
said. 

They  nodded. 

"  Places.  Foots  up !  House  out ! "  said  old 
John  Crichton. 

The  curtain  went  up.  Still  she  was  studying. 
Her  first  entrance  had  three  scenes,  and  she  went 
off  on  the  other  side.  That  meant  that  she  had  to 
run  around  here  to  get  the  part  again,  and  go  back. 
.  .  .  She  put  the  part  down  in  a  corner.  It  was 
open  at  the  next  entrance  ...  if  nobody  kicked  it 
and  lost  the  place.  .  .  .  That  was  her  cue ! 

The  first  scene  did  not  go  badly  as  to  lines.  So 
far  as  she  was  concerned  there  was  little  life  in  it. 
The  next  scene  was  the  important  one  with  Charley. 
How  she  dreaded  it!  She  could  see  him  standing 
in  the  entrance.  He  was  frightened  so  nearly  to 
death  that  he  missed  his  cue.  Luckily  Sarah  was 
standing  there,  and  she  pushed  him.  Finally  he 
was  out  on  the  stage,  his  eyes  glassy.  He  skipped 
three  important  speeches  and  jumped  into  the  scene. 
Sarah,  there  in  the  wings,  stifled  a  groan.  Skamon, 
listening  over  on  the  other  side,  cursed  him  under 
his  breath.  Kaleema  moistened  her  dry  lips  and 


248  KALEEMA 

caught  up  with  him.  She  had  a  long  speech  and 
she  did  not  miss  a  word  of  it.  She  did  more.  She 
put  in  something  important  that  should  have  come 
in  one  of  the  speeches  that  he  left  out. 

"  God !  she  's  a  brick !  "  Sarah  whispered  to  one 
of  the  stage  hands.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

The  scene  went  miserably.  Everything  had  gone 
out  of  Charley's  head.  Kaleema  struggled  to  save 
him.  She  could  n't.  The  next  minute  she  was  up 
in  the  air  herself.  All  she  wanted  was  to  get  rid  of 
him.  Over  in  the  wings  Skamon  was  ordering  him 
off.  He  did  not  hear  it;  he  was  deaf  and  blind. 
The  next  instant  old  John  Crichton  —  it  was  useless 
to  wait  for  any  cue  —  walked  on  the  stage  and 
began  his  scene  with  Kaleema,  and  as  soon  as 
he  could  he  took  Charley  by  the  arm  and  put  him 
off. 

In  the  wings  Charley  began  raging.  "  She  did  n't 
give  me  any  cue  for  my  exit !  "  he  exclaimed.  He 
rushed  to  Kaleema's  dressing-room.  "  She  's  ruin- 
ing this  act !  "  he  bawled  to  the  Gipsy.  "  She  's 
crazy !  Fine  house  we  '11  have  to-morrow  night ! 
When  she  comes  in,  tell  her  to  look  at  her  lines  and 
her  cues !  " 

The  Gipsy  was  frightened.  That  sounded  dread- 
ful. She  was  longing  to  go  out  and  listen.  She 
began  pottering  around  childishly  and  disturbing 
things.  Suddenly  she  stopped  and  took  more  of 
the  powder.  "  Because  my  heart 's  so  bad,"  she 


KALEEMA  249 

whispered,  to  excuse  herself,  commiseratingly.  Her 
lips  were  blue. 

The  scene  with  John  Crichton  went  pretty  well. 
So  did  the  rest  of  the  act.  The  men  (even  Charley, 
now)  all  had  their  parts  in  their  pockets,  and  Sarah 
had  hers  stuck  in  the  back  of  the  scenery.  Kaleema 
was  on  the  stage  most  of  the  time,  but  when  she  came 
off  for  a  minute  not  a  soul  spoke  to  her.  Once 
Sarah  ran  and  got  the  part  for  her,  and  when  the 
curtain  came  down,  as  she  was  groping  her  way 
back  to  the  dressing-room,  somebody  patted  her 
shoulder  and  said,  "  It 's  going  fine,  Kaleema."  It 
was  old  John  Crichton.  That  was  just  like  him. 

Her  mother,  very  excited,  met  her  with  the  news 
from  Charley. 

"  That  big  man  says  you  're  workin'  awful." 

"  Well,  the  next  time  he  comes  near  this  room 
slam  the  door  in  his  face,"  said  Kaleema.  Then  she 
swore  terribly. 

She  began  tearing  off  her  dress  and  hunting  madly 
for  the  next  things.  "  What  have  you  done  here, 
Mother  ?  Don't  touch  anything !  " 

The  Gipsy  retired  to  her  corner.  When  Kaleema 
was  dressed  she  went  on  studying.  Outside  some- 
body else  was  asking  for  soap.  The  "  heavy 
woman  "  was  not  on  in  the  second  act,  so  she  was 
not  dressing.  Charley  was  back  talking  to  her. 
"  I  never,  never  study  at  the  theater,"  she  was  say- 
ing. 


250  KALEEMA 

The  second  act  was  called.  Kaleema  went  out, 
the  open  part  before  her  eyes.  She  was  n't  sure  of 
a  word  of  it.  She  had  worked  so  hard  on  the  first 
act  and  the  third  act.  Pretty  time  to  begin  thinking 
of  that  now.  Thank  heaven,  George  Carney 
could  n't  come ! 

"  Come  on,  Miss  West,  we  're  on." 

It  was  the  leading  man.  Lucky  thing  he  re- 
minded her.  She  had  forgotten.  Yes,  they  were 
holding  the  curtain  for  her.  She  threw  the  part  into 
a  corner  and  scurried  on. 

That  act  was  such  confusion.  Cues  came  from 
everywhere,  slammed  at  her  mercilessly;  and  she 
had  long  speeches,  and  the  exits  were  only  for  in- 
stants —  she  just  got  the  part  in  her  hands  when 
she  heard  her  cue  or  somebody  gently  pushed  her. 
If  this  night  were  ever  ended!  Such  torture  was 
never  meant  for  the  living  — 

She  was  dizzy  and  trembling  when  she  got  back 
to  the  dressing-room.  She  was  bumping  into  peo- 
ple, and  she  was  already  tearing  off  her  clothes. 
She  knew  it  had  gone  horribly.  Everybody  was 
nervous  by  this  time. 

"  I  don't  know  what  ails  me  to-night,"  she  said 
to  her  mother.  "  I  feel  like  death."  She  was 
throwing  some  things  out  of  the  way  and  seizing 
others.  Even  her  make-up  and  her  hair  had  to  be 
changed  this  time.  "  To-night  won't  put  George 


KALEEMA  251 

Carney  on  the  map.  Good  house  out  there,  too. 
It  '11  be  empty  to-morrow.  .  .  .  What  ails  me  ? 
I  'm  not  working  —  I  can't  do  it.  Everything  is 
whirling." 

"  An'  my  heart 's  so  bad,"  said  the  Gipsy.  Her 
face  was  ghastly. 

"  Mother,  sit  down/  said  Kaleema.  "  And  re- 
member not  to  touch  that  powder."  Then  she  be- 
gan studying. 

Before  the  third  act  was  called  she  was  at  the 
entrance,  studying.  Perhaps  she  was  n't  sure  of 
the  lines,  but  she  knew  the  climax  and  where  the 
whole  act  was  trying  to  get  to.  That  was  some- 
thing. After  that  terrible  second  act  perhaps 
everybody  would  be  steadied.  If  only  she  did  n't 
forget  the  business.  The  act  hung  on  it.  Only  one 
quick  rehearsal,  and  there  was  such  a  lot  of  business. 

It  went  through  fairly  well.  The  boys,  all  of 
them,  worked  splendidly.  Scarcely  a  line  was 
missed  or  a  bit  of  business.  Anyway,  they  got  a 
curtain  call.  That  made  Kaleema  angry.  She 
wanted  to  go  out  and  say,  "  See  it  again  next  week. 
You  know  the  story  now,  so  come  back  and  see  these 
people  really  play  it." 

One  more  act  was  to  come.  The  night  was  not 
over.  Sarah  was  not  on  in  that  act.  Just  before 
it  was  called,  she  went  to  Kaleema's  door.  "  Do 
you  want  me  to  hold  the  part  for  you,  'Leema  ?  " 


252  KALEEMA 

"  No  thank  you,  Sarah." 

"  You  're  all  right  so  far,"  said  Sarah,  "  so  don't 
worry." 

Then  Sarah  retreated  to  her  own  dressing-room 
and  went  about  taking  off  her  make-up  and  putting 
on  her  street  clothes.  She  was  too  nervous  to  listen. 
Soon  after  the  act  opened  she  heard  something  fall. 
She  opened  her  door ;  the  only  sound  was  voices  on 
the  stage.  That  did  not  satisfy  her.  Something 
made  her  investigate. 

In  about  fifteen  minutes  the  play  was  over. 
Sarah  was  listening  for  the  end  —  the  sound  of  the 
curtain  and  the  dulled  and  distant  sound  of  applause, 
if  there  should  be  any,  and  for  the  scuffling  of  feet. 

When  Kaleema  reached  her  dressing-room  door, 
her  eyes  wide  and  the  big  part  rolled  up  in  her  shak- 
ing hands,  the  passage  was  uncommonly  deserted 
and  quiet,  but  Sarah  Skamon  was  standing  there 
waiting  for  her.  The  door  was  closed. 

"  Kaleema,  dear,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  've  sent  for 
a  doctor." 

Before  she  spoke  the  girl's  eyes  almost  fright- 
ened her ;  then  suddenly  Kaleema  seemed  to  pull  her- 
self together.  She  stared  at  Sarah;  then  she  put 
out  her  hand  for  the  door  knob.  Sarah  stopped 
her. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  dear,"  she  said. 

Kaleema  looked  straight  at  her;  then  she  put  her 
aside  and  went  in.  The  Gipsy  was  lying  on  the 


KALEEMA  253 

floor.     Her  face  was  turned  the  other  way.     The 
girl  caught  Sarah's  hand  and  stood  still. 

"Sarah,  is  she  ...  dead?" 

"  I  have  sent  for  a  doctor.  .  .  .  I  'm  afraid  so." 

The  part  slipped  out  of  Kaleema's  hand  and  fell 
on  the  floor.  For  a  moment  she  stood  there.  Then 
she  turned  and  caught  Sarah's  arm,  but  her  eyes 
were  still  on  her  mother.  She  wanted  to  go  to  her, 
but  she  could  not  then.  It  came  to  her  how  peace- 
fully she  lay  there. 

"  She  is  out  of  her  misery.  It  is  life  and  more 
life  and  more  life  that  is  terrible." 

Sarah  suddenly  caught  her  breath. 

The  girl  turned  away  and  sank  on  her  knees  be- 
fore a  chair  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  God  forgive  me  for  ever  blaming  my  poor 
mother.  God  forgive  me  for  ever  blaming  my  poor 
mother.  God  forgive  me  for  ever  blaming  my  poor 
mother." 

Sarah  went  over  and  took  her  head  in  her  hands 
and  kissed  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IT  was  past  one  o'clock  when  Sarah  and  Skamon 
returned  to  the  hotel.     After  the  doctor  reached 
the  theater  one  of  the  first  things  that  Sarah  did 
was  to  tell  Harry  to  send  a  telegram  to  Dillon  that 
they  must  advance  some  money  to  Kaleema. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  Kaleema  came 
back  to  the  hotel  and  tapped  at  their  door.  Sarah 
opened  it.  Kaleema  had  been  up  all  night,  but  the 
hurried  walk  to  the  hotel  had  roused  her. 

"  I  came  to  get  Oliver.  I  'm  going  to  work  to- 
night." 

Sarah  started  to  say  something. 

"  I  can't  lose  that  five  dollars,"  Kaleema  inter- 
rupted. "  And  I  'd  better  work  than  be  thinking. 
Nobody  will  recognize  me  in  the  wig  and  the  knick- 
erbockers." She  held  out  her  hand  impatiently, 
and  Sarah  found  the  part  and  gave  it  to  her. 

"  Rehearsal  at  ten,"  said  Sarah. 

Kaleema  took  the  part  —  it  was  not  long  and 
she  had  played  it  before  —  and  went  to  her  own 
room.  At  the  threshold  she  stood  and  looked 
around.  When  she  had  left  it,  only  a  few  hours 
before,  her  arm  was  around  her  mother.  She  threw 
herself  down  on  the  bed  and  wept  convulsively. 

254 


KALEEMA  255 

A  few  minutes  before  ten  she  was  at  the  theater. 
She  went  straight  to  her  dressing-room.  Some- 
body had  already  put  it  in  order,  so  she  went  out 
on  the  stage  and  studied  until  the  others  came. 

In  the  evening  the  house  was  rilled  with  the  usual 
Saturday  night  crowd.  What  had  happened  the 
night  before  had  aroused  the  curiosity  of  the  whole 
town,  so  before  the  performance  Skamon  an- 
nounced that  Miss  Doro  had  come  from  New 
York  especially  to  play  Oliver.  It  had  already 
been  advertised  what  a  "  wonderful  revival " 
the  play  was  going  to  be.  The  heavy  woman  had 
played  Nancy  some  hundreds  of  times,  so  she  said, 
and  the  leading  man  had  played  Bill  Sikes. 
Skamon  had  saved  this  for  Saturday  because  the 
grewsome  story  of  blood  and  murder  and  prisons 
never  failed  to  fill  the  house. 

When  Kaleema,  alias  Miss  Doro  who  came 
especially  from  New  York,  in  her  boy's  wig  of  soft 
dark  curls  and  her  knickerbockers  and  a  torn 
shirt  open  at  the  throat,  was  seen  lying  in  the  prison- 
like  place  on  a  heap  of  straw,  nobody  did  recognize 
her.  The  performance  went  well,  everything  con- 
sidered. The  stage-hands  and  the  company  worked 
hard,  the  scenes  changed  quickly,  and  the  cruel  story 
moved  on  to  its  terrible  murder  and  the  end.  Chains 
clapked,  Pagan  leered  and  counted  his  treasure, 
ragged  little  Oliver  was  knocked  and  cuffed  around, 
and  the  dying  Nancy  dragged  herself  across  the  floor 


256  KALEEMA 

while  the  blood  flowed  so  that  out  in  the  audience 
a  woman  screamed.  Then  Pagan  died  in  his  prison 
and  the  last  curtain  fell. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  Early  in  the  morning 
the  company  went  on,  but  Kaleema  and  Sarah  stayed. 
That  day  they  laid  the  Gipsy  to  rest. 

At  night  Kaleema  and  Sarah  took  a  train,  and 
by  midnight  they  were  with  the  company  again. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  "  Down  East 
Folks  "  went  into  rehearsal. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THAT  Sunday  night  on  the  train  Kaleema  told 
Sarah  that  she  would  never  see  Harold  again. 
She  told  her  briefly,  and  tried  to  keep  the  bitterness 
out  of  it.     Her  voice  was  hard. 

It  was  perhaps  ten  minutes  after  the  train  started 
before  she  spoke.  Poor  Sarah  had  made  some  com- 
monplace remarks  and  then  sat  quiet,  not  knowing 
what  to  say,  her  heart  aching  for  the  quiet  figure  at 
her  side. 

"  I  '11  forget  some  day,  I  hope,"  the  girl  con- 
cluded. 

Something  was  choking  Sarah  so  that  she  could  n't 
speak,  and  for  answer  she  put  her  hand  on  Ka- 
leema's.  The  tears  she  was  fighting  forced  them- 
selves into  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  wanted  you  so  terribly  sometimes, 
Sarah,"  she  said,  as  if  the  words  were  wrung  from 
her. 

The  two  had  never  seen  each  other  until  late  in 
the  last  summer  when  fate  had  tumbled  them  both 
into  that  ill-starred  "  Camille  "  company,  and  yet 
the  show  had  not  been  out  ten  days  when  Kaleema 
felt  she  had  known  and  loved  Sarah  Skamon  all 

257 


258  KALEEMA 

her  life.  But  that  was  the  way  her  life  was  made. 
With  such  as  she  there  is  no  haggling  over  loves 
and  friendships. 

"Why  didn't  you  write  to  me,  child?''  sobbed 
Sarah. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  Then  in  a  moment  she 
went  on. 

"  I  '11  remember  nothing  but  his  sister.  She  is 
wonderful,  Sarah.  It  was  worth  some  misery  just 
to  know  her.  And  perhaps  some  day  I  shall  under- 
stand why  I  dreamed  a  perfect  dream  and  tried  to 
live  it.  ...  Anyway,  it  is  useless  to  think  against 
God  .  .  .  useless." 

Sarah  was  watching  her.  She  saw  her  bite  her 
lips,  and  knew  it  was  to  keep  from  uttering  other 
words.  They  were  the  words  Sarah  wanted  her  to 
utter  —  the  words  that  would  finish  what  in  her  un- 
guarded fright  and  misery  she  had  hinted  that 
dreadful  night.  It  was  the  unspoken  strain  that 
was  the  most  terrible.  Sarah  did  not  speak.  The 
horror  was  still  in  the  girl's  eyes,  and  Sarah  knew 
it  was  best  to  wait,  that  she  would  talk  more  in 
time. 

"  I  was  always  happy  if  I  just  thought  that  he 
was,"  Kaleema  went  on  presently.  "  But  for  days 
together  a  sort  of  nervousness  seemed  to  keep  me 
from  really  breathing.  I  blamed  myself,  always. 
It  was  the  first  I  ever  knew  what  it  is  to  live  with- 
out the  freedom  of  truth.  We  cheap  show  people 


KALEEMA  259 

are  savages,  Sarah.  When  we  're  wretched,  the 
whole  world  may  know  we  're  wretched ;  when  we  're 
painted,  the  whole  world  may  know  we  're  painted ; 
when  we  quarrel,  the  whole  world  may  know  we  're 
quarreling ;  and  when  we  love,  the  whole  world  may 
know  we  're  loving.  .  .  .  And  the  little  place  was 
lovely.  ...  I  got  happiness  out  of  every  cent  I 
ever  saved  that  I  spent  there."  Sarah  glanced  at 
her  curiously;  she  did  not  know  how  the  hard- 
earned  money  had  gone  in  the  bird  and  its  cage,  the 
flowers  and  the  curtains,  the  green  velvet  hat  and 
the  dresses,  and  the  many  other  little  things  of  hum- 
ble beauty  that  were  joyfully  laid  at  the  boy  's  feet 
to  buy  his  contentment.  ..."  And  I  wished  every 
day,  Sarah,  that  you  could  see  it  —  it  was  so  pretty ! 
.  .  .  God!  I  was  fairly  blinded  by  my  respecta- 
bility !  "  She  laughed  harshly. 

Sarah  shuddered.  The  girl  quickly  picked  up  a 
part  and  began  to  study,  then  in  a  minute  she  went 
on  talking,  as  if  she  had  not  left  off. 

"  Remember  that  day  in  Dakota,  after  we  knew 
that  he  was  in  the  hotel,  when  you  were  begging  me 
to  marry  him?  And  me  begging  God  to  let  me! 
.  .  .  I  got  what  I  wanted!  —  didn't  I!"  she 
sneered.  "  I  '11  never  pray  for  anything  again. 
I  '11  take  what  comes  — "  Suddenly  she  caught  her 
breath.  She  remembered  what  was  coming.  She 
went  dizzy. 

Sarah  knew  it,  and  her  hand  tightened.     She  was 


260  KALEEMA 

longing  to  speak,  but  she  dared  not  venture.  She 
was  nearly  beside  herself  with  anxiety. 

"  There,"  said  Kaleema,  "  I  shall  not  speak  of  him 
again,  I  promise  you.  Anything  but  show  people 
with  their  troubles !  " 

"  Talk  all  you  want  to,  dear,"  said  Sarah. 
"  Often  things  that  we  speak  of  lose  half  their  ter- 
ror." 

"But  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Kaleema.  "All 
that  I  can  think  of  is  that  I  am  so  thankful  that 
mother's  powder  lasted  to  spare  her  misery  at  the 
end." 

Then  she  fell  to  studying  on  "  The  Waiting." 
Tuesday  night  it  would  go  on  again.  And  the  slow 
train,  loaded  with  its  unclean,  weary  crowd,  jerked 
and  rushed  and  dragged  along. 

Tuesday  morning  Carney  came. 

He  had  secured  the  permanent  theater  for  the 
summer,  and  his  brain  was  teeming  with  plans.  He 
himself  seemed  like  a  different  man.  Even  his  voice 
had  a  different  ring.  He  was  more  like  his  old  self. 
The  physical  work  of  the  past  weeks  had  done  him 
untold  good,  and  he  had  lost  the  nervous  strain  of 
the  exhausting  uncertainty  of  the  old  show.  He 
breathed  more  freely  the  instant  he  was  out  from 
under  the  slow,  corroding  dishonesty  of  Skamon. 
Now  he  had  something  of  his  own  which  even  Dillon 
could  not  rule,  and  George  Carney  once  more  faced 


KALEEMA  261 

the  world  aggressively,  admitting  cheerfully  that  he 
was  out  to  lose  or  win. 

The  company  would  open  June  20.  On  the  train 
he  was  thinking  about  the  last  time  that  he  had 
seen  Kaleema  before  she  was  married  —  that  cold 
night  in  Dakota,  at  the  station,  when  he  left  her  be- 
fore the  train  came  and  went  tramping  off,  blindly, 
over  the  fields  of  snow.  Now  when  he  first  saw 
her  it  was  at  the  rehearsal.  He  got  in  at  a  quarter 
of  ten,  and  went  right  to  the  theater,  where  they  were 
beginning  work  on  "  The  Waiting." 

When  there  was  an  opportunity  he  went  to 
Kaleema  and  held  out  his  hand,  muttering  something 
about  her  mother.  She  felt  how  awkward  it  was 
for  him  to  find  words,  and  tried  to  help  him.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  she  had  changed,  that  there  was 
a  new  sensitiveness  in  her  lips  and  a  helplessness  in 
her  eyes,  and  where  her  hair  was  carelessly  pushed 
back  he  could  see  the  soft  lines  of  her  cheeks  and 
temples,  and  he  thought  they  had  grown  a  little 
rounder.  To  him,  it  made  her  look  like  a  child. 

"Isn't  there  anything  that  I  can  do  for  you?" 
he  said.  In  his  awkward  way  he  was  always  try- 
ing to  help  her.  But  she  did  n't  see  it  now. 

She  bit  her  lips  and  shook  her  head  as  she  turned 
away  from  him.  He  understood. 

The  rehearsal  was  going  on,  and  presently  every- 
thing else  was  forgotten.  Carney  was  standing  at 
one  side  out  of  the  way,  one  foot  up  on  a  chair, 


262  KALEEMA 

listening  and  watching  intently.  He  was  like  a  big 
edition  of  a  small  boy  desperately  serious  over  a  new 
toy  —  would  it  work?  Whenever  he  was  much  in- 
terested in  a  thing  his  hat  was  either  pushed  back 
on  his  head  or  pulled  a  little  over  his  eyes.  To-day 
it  was  a  little  over  his  eyes.  Occasionally,  when 
Sarah  was  not  busy  she  would  go  over  and  talk  to 
him  in  an  undertone  —  she  had  all  the  traditional 
tricks  of  the  manager's  wife  —  and  he  bent  down, 
his  kind  eyes  attentive  to  her  at  the  same  time  that 
his  ears  kept  sharp  account  of  what  Skamon  was 
doing  with  the  rehearsal.  Once  or  twice  he  scrib- 
bled down  a  note  for  some  change,  while  he  smiled 
at  the  absurdity  of  his  tampering  with  that  Broad- 
way show.  No  matter.  He  was  ready  to  gamble 
on  his  own  convictions.  He  was  also  admitting  that 
Skamon  was  far  from  a  fool. 

After  the  rehearsal  was  over  he  found  himself 
talking  with  Kaleema.  So  much  that  was  imper- 
sonal had  intervened  that  it  was  easier  this  time. 
Presently  the  others  left  the  theater,  and  they  were 
alone.  She  was  sitting  on  a  narrow  flight  of  dusty 
stairs  that  led  up  to  some  of  the  dressing  rooms, 
and  Carney  was  standing  by  the  railing.  He  was 
explaining  to  her  all  about  the  summer  stock.  He 
had  already  engaged  a  fairly  well-known  actor  for 
leading  man.  It  was  easy  enough  to  get  almost 
anybody,  with  a  traction  company  back  of  the  en- 
terprise. 


KALEEMA  263 

"  I  like  this  chap,  Gresley,  though,"  he  added, 
"  and  I  want  to  keep  him  for  other  parts  —  if  he  will 
stay.  What  do  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  He 's  all  right,"  answered  Kaleema  emphat- 
ically. "  Good  actor  and  minds  his  own  business. 
Has  a  sick  wife,  too,"  she  added,  "  so  he  really  needs 
the  engagement,  and  he  won't  be  eternally  hopping 
around  with  a  chip  on  his  shoulder." 

"  We  '11  try  one  bill  a  week,"  said  Carney,  "  and 
see  how  it  goes." 

"  Most  of  the  summer  stocks  have  to  put  on  two," 
she  reminded. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  admitted,  "  but  we  '11  see  what 
this  place  is  good  for."  His  eyes  narrowed 
shrewdly  and  he  gave  a  decided  nod  of  his  head. 
He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  began  walk- 
ing up  and  down  before  her.  "  We  '11  do  it,  too, 
rather  than  fail,"  he  added.  "  We  '11  start  with  two 
good  royalty  bills,"  he  went  on,  "  then  use  '  Oliver 
Twist '  or  '  East  Lynne,'  and  follow  that  with  '  The 
Waiting,'  worked  up  big  and  the  New  York  run  ad- 
vertised for  all  it  is  worth." 

He  stopped  and  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  rail- 
ing. He  looked  at  her  to  see  what  she  thought  of 
it. 

"  That 's  splendid,"  she  said  intently. 

"  Sarah  Skamon  is  a  treasure,"  he  said,  his  mind 
rapidly  going  from  one  thing  to  another. 

"But  that  awful  Harry!"  interrupted  Kaleema. 


264  KALEEMA 

"  Don't  worry  about  him,"  Carney  said  quickly, 
his  eyes  narrowing  again.  "  If  he  does  n't  straighten 
out  some  of  his  meanness  and  cheap-skate  notions, 
he  '11  suddenly  find  himself  missing.  And  I  'm  ready 
to  bet  anything  that  Sarah  will  stick  by  the  show." 

"  You  're  right  there,"  Kaleema  exclaimed  eagerly. 
She  had  forgotten  herself  in  listening  to  him.  To 
both  of  them  the  company  and  the  shows  were  in- 
tensely alive.  It  was  a  life  compelling  and  engross- 
ing. She  did  n't  know  it  then,  but  it  was  good  to 
be  back  with  her  own  kind! 

"  I  'm  tired  to  death,  anyway,"  began  Carney, 
walking  again,  "  of  these  wise  old-timers  who 
have  n't  kept  anything  with  them  but  their  ratty  old 
wigs  and  their  played-out  methods  and  close-lipped 
faces  and  dishonesty." 

"  You  're  perfectly  right,"  she  said.  "  Of  course 
they  '11  jump  all  over  you,  but  don't  let  them  scare 
you." 

His  mind  had  already  gone  to  something  else. 
He  stood  still  before  her. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  anything  can  be  trusted 
to  John  Crichton,  whether  he  's  lit  up  like  a  church 
or  sober,  but  what  in  the  Lord's  world  to  do  with 
Charley!  He  is  certainly  the  rottenest  actor  the 
cowboys  ever  missed  killing." 

"  He  's  so  sharp  and  so  pompous,"  said  Kaleema, 
"  why  don't  you  put  him  in  the  business  end?  " 

Carney   snapped   his  fingers.     "  Gee   whiz,   kid, 


KALEEMA  265 

you  've  hit  it !  I  've  lain  awake  nights  trying  to 
think  of  a  man  I  could  trust."  So  much  for  one  of 
his  perplexities.  He  pushed  his  hat  to  the  back  of 
his  head  and  walked  a  few  paces,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  Then  he  turned.  "  He  's  all  right,  is  n't 
he?" 

"  Sure." 

"Will  he  take  it?" 

"  He  will  if  I  tell  him  to,"  announced  Kaleema. 
"  And  I  can  promise  him  one  thing  for  certain,  and 
that  is  that  he  '11  burst  every  blood-vessel  in  his 
wooden  head  before  he  has  even  commenced  with 
the  two-a-week  study.  Leave  it  to  me  to  scare  him 
to  death." 

Carney  laughed.  It  was  such  a  relief  to  have  that 
question  settled.  Kaleema  leaned  forward  eagerly, 
her  elbows  on  her  knees.  It  was  so  enthralling  to 
put  life  into  the  show. 

Carney  went  on  about  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"  We  '11  keep  this  heavy  woman  for  second  busi- 
ness," he  said.  "  She 's  young  enough  and  her 
work  's  fairly  fit  to  be  seen,  and  she  seems  to  be  a 
nice,  peaceable  woman." 

"  And  never,  never  studies  at  the  theater,"  sub- 
consciously thought  Kaleema.  "  And  you  must 
hunt  up  some  blonde  young  person,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  hate  blondes,"  muttered  Carney. 

A  wan  little  smile  came  to  Kaleema's  lips,  like  a 
stranger. 


266  KALEEMA 

"  Is  it  a  show  or  a  harem  you  're  collectin'  ?  "  she 
said  drolly. 

Carney  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  out- 
right. 

"  All  right,  a  blonde,"  he  said  submissively. 

"  With  an  English  accent,"  she  cautioned  him. 
"  Try  your  best  to  get  one  with  an  English  accent. 
Get  all  the  English  accent  you  possibly  can  with  all 
the  new  people.  Audiences  don't  understand  any- 
thing else  now.  Lots  of  it  comes  from  Indiana, 
but  that  does  n't  matter  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  he  repeated,  and  he  made  a  note  of 
it.  "  And  perhaps  we  can  get  by  for  a  while  with 
doubling  and  cutting  down  things  to  the  four  women ; 
we  can  so  easily  get  more  when  they  are  needed." 

He  did  not  look  at  Kaleema  as  he  said  it.  Now 
that  her  mother  was  gone,  he  did  not  know  that  she 
would  stay.  Sarah  had  not  had  time  to  tell  him  any- 
thing. Probably  she  would  be  going  back  to  Har- 
old. 

He  turned  away,  his  hands  thrust  deeper  into  his 
pockets,  and  walked  across  the  stage.  The  smiled-in 
dents  were  not  under  his  eyes.  But  she  did  not  say 
anything.  He  went  to  the  baggage  door  and  peered 
into  the  alley,  to  give  her  time.  Still  she  did  not 
speak. 

He  came  back  toward  her  slowly. 

"  The  men  we  have  are  not  much  good,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  and  I  shall  make  jome  changes.  I  can 


KALEEMA  267 

give  the  new  men  the  parts  in  town,  and  the  rest  of 
you  can  start  rehearsals  while  you  are  working. 
There  need  not  be  more  than  three  or  four  days  lost 
before  the  opening." 

Kaleema  got  to  her  feet  and  shook  the  dust  from 
her  skirt. 

"  It  seems  a  splendid  way  to  fix  things.  It 's 
got  to  succeed,  anyway."  There  was  a  ring  in  her 
voice  as  she  said  it.  She  walked  slowly  toward  the 
outside  door.  "  I  'm  going  back  to  the  hotel  now," 
she  said,  "  to  sleep  and  do  a  little  studying." 

When  she  was  gone,  it  dawned  on  Carney  that 
she  was  not  wearing  a  wedding  ring.  He  walked 
down  to  the  foot-lights  and  stood  for  a  few  moments 
looking  into  the  shadowy  back  of  the  house,  not 
even  seeing  the  galleries  or  the  rows  and  rows  of 
empty  seats  or  the  gorgeous  gold  boxes  with  their 
red  plush  curtains.  Then  suddenly  he  remembered 
that  it  was  high  time  he  hunted  up  the  big  fat 
Skamon. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  stock  company  opened  on  June  20.  It 
was  housed  in  an  attractive  new  theater  lo- 
cated only  three  hours  from  New  York;  and  it  was 
half-way  between  two  fair-sized  towns,  within  a 
thirty-minute  street-car  ride  from  either  of  them. 
The  park  was  not  new,  but  the  traction  company 
had  given  it  a  sudden  and  decided  turn  for  the  better. 
Things  started  out  well;  the  weather  was  good,  the 
newspapers  of  both  towns  were  hard  up  for  news, 
and  Carney  seemed  likely  to  more  than  double  his 
money.  Kaleema  and  the  leading  man  were  both 
getting  fifty  dollars  a  week,  and  Kaleema  was 
gradually  paying  back  her  debt  to  the  company. 
Charley  was  handling  the  money  now,  and  he  seemed 
to  like  the  new  dignity  —  his  stupid  round  eyes  still 
staring,  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  the  pink 
ring  on  his  saffron  finger;  his  little  mustache  not 
growing.  Kaleema  kept  her  accounts  with  him 
checked  up  on  her  dressing-room  wall.  Every  time 
she  put  up  a  figure  she  would  say,  "  What  a  pity, 
on  this  nice,  new,  white-washed  wall !  "  and  she  and 
Charley  would  ruefully  gaze  at  it  for  a  moment. 
She  was  living  very  cheaply,  but  it  was  the  wardrobe 
that  kept  her  back.  She  had  so  little  to  do  with, 

268 


KALEEMA  269 

^id  they  were  putting  on  good  bills  and  had  critical 
audiences,  and  she  had  to  keep  up  with  the  pace. 
Even  Sarah  did  not  know  what  a  burden  it  was. 
Nobody  knew  but  Charley,  and  he  became  so  ex- 
cited over  it  that,  just  to  show  her  what  she  was 
spending,  he  started  a  wardrobe  account  on  a  space 
of  the  wall  back  of  the  door.  They  used  to  stand 
and  look  at  it  and  groan. 

Kaleema  was  working  very  hard.  Outside  of 
work,  she  had  no  time  to  think.  She  wanted  no 
time  to  think.  Often,  after  matinees,  she  and  Sarah 
would  leave  the  theater  together  and  wander  for  a 
few  minutes  around  the  park;  but  whenever  she 
caught  Sarah  looking  anxiously  at  her  she  would 
smile  and  begin  to  talk.  Sometimes  when  she  was 
studying  she  would  find  her  mind  going  to  other 
things  —  and  though  she  did  not  know  it,  the  strange 
look  of  horror  and  defiance  was  back  in  her  eyes. 
Then  she  would  stop  short  and  get  back  to  the  never- 
ending  lines  again. 

The  new  actors  were  of  the  expensive  variety  in 
the  winter  time,  and  they  seemed  to  be  rather  nice 
fellows,  but  they  never  knew  their  lines  —  even  on 
Saturday  night  —  and  Skamon  dared  not  say  a  word 
for  fear  they  would  pack  up  their  nice  wardrobes 
and  their  nice  English  accents  and  leave.  That  was 
one  penalty  he  paid  for  being  so  close  to  town. 
Three  of  them  were  really  English,  and  at  first  none 
of  them  had  a  bit  of  respect  for  the  barnstormers  in 


270  KALEEMA 

the  company,  with  the  exception  of  fine  old  John 
Crichton ;  but  he,  of  course,  had  come  from  far  bet- 
ter things.  Charley  was  absurd  enough  with  his 
talk  about  his  rich  father ;  but  as  he  sent  home  to  his 
tailor  and  ordered  clothes  that  everybody  could  see 
his  own  salary  never  paid  for,  they  were  constrained 
to  believe  him.  After  a  while  they  did  admit  that 
the  barnstormers  worked  well  —  and  they  evidently 
stood  in  with  the  management,  such  as  it  was ! 

The  barnstormers  liked  them  pretty  well,  in  spite 
of  their  condescension.  "  They  're  the  nearest  we  '11 
ever  get  to  Broadway,  Sarah,"  Kaleema  used  to 
whisper  in  the  wings.  The  blonde  young  person 
with  the  English  accent,  however,  turned  out  to  be 
very  disagreeable  —  she  was  used  to  so  much  better 
companies,  poor  thing. 

By  the  end  of  the  second  week  the  fastidious  light 
comedian  thought  that  he  was  in  love  with  Kaleema. 
He  became  very  serious  about  it,  and  was  miserably 
jealous  of  poor  Charley.  He  lived  at  the  same  place 
that  she  did,  and  he  took  to  standing  outside  her 
closed  door  and  reading  the  "  Rubaiyat "  to  her. 
She  used  to  tell  him  that  he  would  be  "  doin'  better  to 
study  a  little  instead  of  standin'  there  throwin'  temp- 
tation over  the  transom,"  but  he  did  not  see  it  that 
way.  He  had  worked  in  New  York,  and  it  seemed 
such  a  waste  of  brain  to  study  for  "  these  peasants." 

The  third  week  somebody  among  the  barnstormers 
discovered  that  Sam  Taney,  by  another  wild  flight 


KALEEMA  271 

of  fortune,  had  got  back  into  vaudeville  and  was 
making  rather  a  hit  on  Broadway,  and  that  sent 
them  into  a  state  of  excitement.  Charley  was  or- 
dered to  telegraph  to  him  their  combined  and  un- 
bounded joy;  and,  to  their  surprise,  Sam  dashed 
out  to  see  them  one  morning,  had  a  good  old  gossip, 
told  lies  big  enough  to  knock  the  breath  out  of  the 
expensive  (in  the  winter  time)  actors,  and  imme- 
diately dashed  back  again.  He  explained  that  the 
job  had  its  drawbacks  (the  man  he  was  working 
with  was  crazy)  but  still  he  was  rather  happy. 

Then  the  week  came  which  was  to  see  Carney's 
try-out  for  "  The  Waiting."  If  it  had  not  been  a 
big  success  in  town,  at  least  everybody  had  not  seen 
it.  That  was  one  thing.  The  New  York  run  was 
played  up  for  all  there  was  in  it,  fairly  good  time 
was  given  for  rehearsals,  and  Kaleema  and  Carney 
and  Skamon  worked  like  slaves.  Carney  had  some 
new  photographs  made  of  Kaleema,  which  the  news- 
papers took  eagerly.  He  had  a  lot  of  them  framed 
and  put  around  the  two  towns,  and  when  he  had 
time  he  liked  to  stand  and  watch  people  stop  to  look 
at  them.  He  sent  a  two-column  cut  to  the  "  Clip- 
per "  and  paid  ten  dollars  to  have  it  put  in. 
Skamon  let  Kaleema  take  a  day  off  when  there  was 
no  matinee  and  go  in  to  New  York,  and  she  bought 
a  beautiful  dress,  left  over  from  the  winter  and 
marked  down.  While  there,  she  came  face  to  face 
with  Miss  Rebecca  Sorkai.  It  was  impossible  to 


272  KALEEMA 

escape,  for  the  pretty  little  school  teacher  threw  her 
arms  around  her;  and  they  both  had  tears  in  their 
eyes  when  Kaleema  went  on,  stubbornly  refusing 
to  tell  where  she  was  going  or  could  be  found. 

The  week  of  "  The  Waiting  "  closed  splendidly. 
The  expensive  actors  put  their  wise  heads  together 
and  announced  that  it  was  a  better  play  than  it  had 
been  on  Broadway;  that  Miss  West  was  perhaps 
worth  a  little  training,  and  that  they  had  worked 
for  greater  but  also  meaner  men  than  Carney.  The 
light  comedian  was  so  wrought  up  over  the  way 
Kaleema  had  looked  in  the  new  dress  that  he  spent 
nearly  the  whole  of  Saturday  night  in  a  saloon. 
They  were  also  interested  in  rumors  that  "  The  Wait- 
ing "  was  going  on  the  road,  and  they  woke  up  per- 
ceptibly when  Carney  was  around. 

As  for  Carney  himself,  his  mind  was  always  weeks 
ahead  of  current  events,  so  by  the  time  the  success- 
ful run  of  "  The  Waiting  "  came,  he  was  mentally 
already  grappling  with  the  road  show.  After  the 
Saturday  night  performance,  however,  he  went  and 
knocked  at  Kaleema's  door. 

"Yes?"  she  called.  She  thought  that  it  was 
Charley. 

"  Are  you  decent?  "  he  inquired. 

For  a  moment  her  heart  stood  still.  This  was 
his  first  coming  since  that  dreary  night  in  Dakota. 
The  very  words,  and  they  brought  back  a  flood  of 
memories. 


KALEEMA  273 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  she  answered.  Her  own 
words  of  that  same  night.  She  couldn't  repress 
them,  though  she  tried.  Then  she  opened  the 
door. 

He  came  in  and  closed  the  door  after  him.  She 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  make-up  table  and  put  her 
foot  on  the  chair,  waiting  for  him  to  speak.  She 
had  slipped  on  a  kimono,  and  her  hair  was  down 
and  caught  back.  Across  her  brows  and  eyes  there 
was  the  look  of  a  child. 

"  You  have  done  splendid  work  this  week,"  he 
said. 

"  Splendid  part,"  she  said  tersely.  "  Could  n't 
kill  it  with  an  ax." 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  at  the  soft  lines  of  her 
cheeks  and  temples.  Suddenly  he  remembered  what 
he  came  for.  He  unrolled  a  paper.  It  was  the 
"  Clipper."  He  held  it  out  and  showed  her  a  pic- 
ture. 

"Me!"  she  cried.  "Me?"  Her  eyes  were 
sparkling.  "  ME  in  that  damn  '  Clipper  ' !  "  She 
seized  it  from  him  and  hugged  it  close  to  her  and 
kissed  it,  rocking  back  and  forth  and  laughing  glee- 
fully. 

Carney  laughed  in  his  quiet  way.  He  had  had  no 
idea  it  would  make  her  so  happy. 

"My  Gawd!"  she  said  slowly,  "you  blew  ten 
dollars !  "  She  rolled  it  up.  "  I  '11  keep  this  one," 
she  said.  "  You  can  buy  another."  She  threw  it 


274  KALEEMA 

into  her  trunk.  "  And  I  '11  buy  ten  more,"  she 
added. 

"  I  brought  this  to  show  you,  too,"  he  said.  He 
held  out  to  her  a  little  slip  of  paper  with  Charley's 
weekly  counting-up  of  the  box  office  receipts. 

She  gave  a  gasp  of  surprise  and  delight,  then  she 
seized  his  hand  to  bring  the  figures  nearer.  While 
she  was  studying  over  them  he  was  looking  down  at 
her,  wishing  that  he  could  take  the  old  make-up  rag 
out  of  her  hands  and  wipe  the  streaks  of  paint  from 
her  soft  skin. 

Suddenly  she  glanced  up.  She  was  thinking 
deeply  —  for  her. 

"  That  night  we  met  you  in  the  theater  I  thought 
about  you  all  the  evening  —  that  you  are  a  thousand 
times  too  good  for  the  show  business  and  that,  any- 
way, you  would  n't  succeed."  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  gave  a  little  laugh  at  her  mistake. 

Carney  smiled.  "  I  have  n't  yet,  so  keep  right 
on  prognosticating  that  same  way."  He  glanced 
around  at  the  confusion  of  the  little  dressing-room. 
He  did  n't  quite  know  how  to  get  away.  "  You 
don't  wear  your  earrings  any  more,"  he  said,  almost 
without  thinking. 

Her  lips  went  dry  and  she  caught  her  breath. 
She  had  nearly  said  that  it  was  because  Harold 
did  n't  like  them.  The  tears  started  in  her  eyes. 

"  They  're  in  my  trunk.  Do  you  like  them  ?  "  she 
said  instead. 


KALEEMA  275 

A  tinge  of  red  covered  Carney's  neck  and  face. 
He  was  downright  shy  about  saying  that  he  did. 

"  They  seem  to  belong  with  you,"  he  answered. 

She  slid  down  from  the  table  and  went  to  the 
trunk,  found  the  earrings  and  began  to  put  them  on. 

"  And  I  like  them,"  she  said.  Then  she  added, 
"  I  '11  bet  you  like  the  green  velvet  hat,  too." 

"  I  do,"  admitted  Carney. 

He  did  n't  know  what  else  to  say ;  so  he  just  went 
out. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THAT  week  settled  Carney's  plans  for  the  start 
of  the  next  season.  "  The  Waiting  "  was 
going  on  the  road,  and  he  was  going  ahead  of  the 
show.  He  believed  a  good  deal  in  luck,  but  he  also 
wanted  a  hard-working  advance  man.  And  he  also 
believed  that  if  he  wanted  a  thing  well  done  he  had 
to  do  it  himself. 

Before  the  end  of  August  Kaleema's  debt  to  the 
company  was  paid,  and  at  the  same  time  a  new 
woman  came  to  take  her  place  in  the  stock  company. 
She  went  back  to  New  York  for  rehearsals  of  "  The 
Waiting."  John  Crichton  was  to  be  in  the  cast, 
and  so  was  Sarah.  Carney  had  offered  an  engage- 
ment to  Sarah  but  not  to  Skamon  (he  had  more  than 
one  reason),  and  she  very  readily  turned  her  fat  back 
on  Harry.  Skamon  was  dumbfounded.  For  the 
thirty  years  of  their  married  life  they  had  never  been 
separated.  The  poor,  dishonest,  old-fashioned,  un- 
successful man  was  most  unhappy.  His  plans  were 
to  take  out  a  repertoire  company  —  another  season 
of  "  Dillon  and  Skamon."  Only  there  would  be  no 
Sarah.  Not  even  Trilby. 

Charley  Forbes  was  to  be  the  business  manager 
276 


KALEEMA  277 

of  "The  Waiting."  So  he  had  all  his  clothes 
pressed,  and  bought  a  lot  of  new  collars,  and  packed 
his  trunk  so  full  that  it  weighed  more  than  the 
scenery.  At  that,  Kaleema  had  to  make  room  in 
her  trunk  to  carry  a  hat  for  him.  He  started  in  to 
apologize  and  explain,  but  she  impatiently  inter- 
rupted by  seizing  the  hat.  It  was  a  scorching  hot 
day  and  she  was  tired. 

"  Never  mind  explaining,"  she  said  shortly. 
"  It 's  always  the  case  that  the  worst  actor  swears 
the  most  and  carries  the  heaviest  trunk." 

He  went  off,  much  offended;  but  he  left  the  hat 
with  her.  She  packed  it  with  a  seven-pound  electric 
flat-iron  inside  it. 

Carney  was  sorry  that  the  leading  man  of  the 
summer  stock  would  not  go,  but  he  wanted  a  great 
deal  too  much  money.  So  he  found  another  man. 
He  had  Kaleema  and  Sarah  and  Crichton  to  start 
with,  and  the  rest  of  the  cast  of  eight  was  made  up 
of  pretty  good  people.  Kaleema  listened  eagerly 
when  he  came  back  to  the  hotel  from  the  agencies 
and  told  her  about  the  people  he  had  talked  with  and 
what  he  thought  of  their  possibilities.  All  those 
he  wanted  were  too  expensive,  and  all  those  within 
his  reach  he  did  n't  want.  All  the  time  he  was  talk- 
ing Kaleema  was  thinking  of  the  hundreds  of  times 
she  had  talked  to  managers  while  she  was  secretly 
trying  to  decide  in  an  instant  whether  she  should 
stick  on  or  knock  off  ten  dollars.  She  had  tried 


278  KALEEMA 

both  ways,  and  she  had  lost  a  lot  of  things  she 
wanted  because  she  was  ten  dollars  too  expensive, 
and  a  lot  more  because  she  was  ten  dollars  too  cheap. 

Finally  she  asked  Carney  to  let  her  go  to  one  of 
the  agencies  with  him,  and  he  did.  He  saw  what 
a  mess  he  was  making  of  it.  She  made  up  her  mind 
what  people  she  wanted,  then  she  told  Carney  to 
break  it  to  them  gently  what  the  parts  were  paying, 
and  that  if  they  did  n't  faint  they  would  probably 
go.  To  his  surprise  some  quite  civilized-looking 
people  accepted,  and  the  whole  thing  was  settled  that 
morning. 

When  he  got  out  on  the  street  again  his  pulse  was 
beating  hard.  He  realized  for  the  first  time  what 
a  gamble  the  whole  thing  was.  Here  were  these 
people  ready  to  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  trusting 
to  nothing  but  his  luck  and  honesty.  He  remem- 
bered how  much  it  had  cost  him  last  winter  to  get 
back  from  the  snow-fields  of  Dakota,  and  that  they 
left  the  Ginivens  hanging  by  a  thread,  John  Crich- 
ton  stranded,  and  Godiva  with  nothing  but  "  Science 
and  Health  "  and  the  deceitful  stove.  He  did  not 
know  that  it  was  something  in  himself  that  made 
them  trust  him. 

He  glanced  down  at  Kaleema. 

"  You  do  know  this  business,  kid !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled.  He  was  warm 
and  tired,  and  his  hat  was  on  the  back  of  his  head. 
"  You  got  a  pretty  keen  lot  of  people,"  she  said. 


KALEEMA  279 

"  They  would  n't  have  gone  for  Dillon  or  Skamon." 

His  color  deepened;  there  was  no  mistaking  her 
meaning. 

'  You  picked  them  out,"  he  insisted. 

"  But  nobody  but  you  could  have  coaxed  'em  as 
far  as  Hoboken." 

Carney  left  a  week  ahead,  and  on  the  twenty- 
seventh  of  August,  another  scorching  day,  the  show 
opened. 

One  night  stands  again !  —  but  better  towns  than 
they  had  played  before.  They  were  going  west, 
too;  Kaleema  hoped  and  prayed  not  to  Dakota. 
And  there  would  be  plenty  of  time  to  think.  Oh, 
God,  yes !  plenty  of  time  to  think.  Tired  as  she  was, 
she  shuddered  as  she  sat  down  in  the  first  train. 
It  seemed  beyond  all  that  she  could  endure..  Sleep- 
less nights  and  interminable  waits  at  junctions  and 
slow  jumps  on  the  trains  —  no  study,  no  rehearsals, 
no  dressmakers,  no  mad  hurry  of  the  summer  — 
nothing  to  do  but  to  see  the  world  and  work  and  life 
as  it  is  and  what  one  pays  for  living,  and  to  think, 
think,  think. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SARAH  SKAMON  suddenly  developed  an  exas- 
perating habit  of  writing  letters.  After  the 
show  had  been  out  a  week,  it  seemed  to  Kaleema 
that  she  never  wanted  her  that  she  did  n't  find  her 
in  the  hotel  office  humped  up  over  a  desk,  writing. 
On  such  occasions  Sarah  always  tried  to  look  inno- 
cent, feeling  all  the  time  as  if  she  had  been  caught 
setting  fire  to  a  church  or  robbing  a  blind  beggar; 
when  it  came  to  the  real  thing,  Sarah  Skamon  was 
a  poor  actor.  However,  Kaleema  made  no  com- 
ments. Even  with  Sarah,  she  was  quite  profes- 
sional in  the  matter  of  minding  her  own  business. 
So  she  would  wander  off,  desperate  and  lonely. 

They  were  working  in  the  worst  of  the  summer 
heat,  and  it  lasted  all  through  September.  They 
were  too  worn-out  to  care.  At  night  they  strained 
themselves  to  the  effort  of  the  play,  and  because 
those  who  came  to  see  it  were  thrilled  they  were 
satisfied.  Kaleema  was  existing  on  the  hope  and 
the  determination  that  it  should  succeed.  All  her 
life  her  work  had  been  miserably  changeable  and  un- 
even, one  night  rising  to  her  best  and  the  next  night 
falling  far  below;  but  now  when  she  struggled 

280 


KALEEMA  281 

through  a  poor  performance  she  rushed  back  to  her 
dressing-room  with  tears  of  anger  in  her  eyes.  She 
blamed  it  to  the  heat,  her  exhaustion,  her  almost 
sleepless  nights,  and  the  tormenting  flies  and  mos- 
quitoes in  the  hotel  rooms. 

After  a  month  of  that  discomfort  the  weather 
began  to  cool  a  little.  Then  other  things  tormented 
her  thoughts;  and  Sarah  saw  the  fright  and  the 
hardness  coming  back  into  her  eyes.  Sarah  dreaded 
the  afternoons  and  their  beautiful  autumn  sunsets. 
She  often  wondered  if  Kaleema  did  n't  miss  the  last 
year's  walks  with  Carney,  but  she  dared  not  men- 
tion it  because  it  would  bring  back  Harold's  letters 
and  visits  and  their  consequences. 

It  developed  that  Sarah  was  pestering  Charley 
about  how  to  spell  some  word  that  stumped  her. 
She  had  confidence  in  him  because  he  had  been  to 
college.  She  did  not  bother  about  the  fact  that  he 
was  there  just  long  enough  to  get  put  out  and  sent 
in  disgrace  back  to  his  father. 

Kaleema  looked  at  her  in  amazement  when  she 
heard  it.  Her  professional  attitude  broke  down. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Sarah  Skamon !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Are  you  falling  in  love  again  with  that 
cross  old  Harry  ?  " 

"  Possibly,"  answered  Sarah  very  mildly.  She 
began  fumbling  with  the  written  pages,  so  that  Ka- 
leema could  n't  read  anything.  "  I  don't  write  so 
many,"  she  went  on  defensively,  "  but  I  like  to  have 


282  KALEEMA 

them  look  nice,  so  I  have  to  copy  and  copy  and  copy." 

"Hum!"  saidKaleema. 

As  the  autumn  dragged  on  to  early  winter  Sarah 
took  to  more  anxious  worrying.  She  would  watch 
Kaleema  for  a  while,  and  then  dash  off  for  a  walk  in 
the  wind,  trying  to  decide  what  to  do.  Suddenly 
she  took  to  sewing,  trying  to  assume  an  attitude  that 
would  encourage  curiosity  and  conversation.  She 
sewed  persistently,  right  before  Kaleema's  eyes,  but 
the  girl  would  sit  there  as  if  she  were  blind.  Ka- 
leema worked  hard  at  night,  but  outside  of  that  she 
scarcely  spoke  to  a  soul,  and  often  there  was  so  much 
of  the  horror  in  her  eyes  that  it  frightened  Sarah. 

Finally  Sarah  made  up  her  mind. 

One  day  in  the  train  (it  was  very  cold  outside  and 
there  was  snow  on  the  ground)  Sarah  left  her  seat 
and  hurried  toward  Kaleema,  who  was  sitting  all 
alone.  Sarah  was  carrying  something  white  in  her 
shaking  hands.  When  she  reached  the  girl  she 
stopped  and  leaned  toward  her. 

"  Here,  'Leema,  hem  this,"  she  commanded,  and 
she  handed  the  something  white  to  her. 

It  fell  over  the  girl's  gloveless  hands  as  they  lay 
in  her  lap. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked.  With  that  she  held 
it  up  —  soft  white  cloth  with  a  little  neck-hole  and 
two  tiny  sleeves.  Her  hands  fell  with  it,  almost 
without  sensation,  and  her  lips  went  pallid. 

"  A  dress,"  snapped  Sarah  Skamon,  "  to  cover 


KALEEMA  283 

the  nakedness  of  your  child.  You  could  sew  by  the 
year  for  that  horrid  little  Giniven  thing,  but  you 
leave  all  this  for  me." 

Sarah  could  trust  herself  to  say  no  more,  and 
she  ran  back  to  her  own  seat,  trembling  and  half- 
sobbing. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  went  just  far  enough  down 
the  aisle  to  see  that  Kaleema  was  sewing. 

That  night  after  the  show  Sarah  wrote  a  some- 
what incoherent  letter.  This  much  was  clear,  how- 
ever :  "  To-day  I  made  her  hem  three  dresses  — 
one  on  the  train  and  two  at  the  junction.  I  trembled 
for  an  hour  after  I  told  her  to  do  it.  I  suppose  the 
lord  knew  what  he  was  about  when  he  made 
women." 

She  spelled  "  Lord "  without  a  capital  letter. 
Perhaps  she  did  it  intentionally. 

The  letter  she  addressed  to  "  George  Carney, 
Theater,  care  of  *  The  Waiting.' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

ONE  day  in  the  winter,  in  a  hospital  ward,  a 
certain  baby  was  having  its  first  good  cry. 
The  nurses  called  it  the  "  show  "  baby. 

They  did  not  know  much  about  it,  but  they  knew 
positively  that  its  mother  was  very  strange. 

They  knew  she  had  played  there  one  night  some- 
time ago,  in  "  The  Waiting  " ;  then  she  stayed  and 
the  show  went  on.  When  she  first  came  to  the 
hospital  she  said  that  she  was  Miss  West,  and  a 
moment  later  she  was  answering  questions  by  an- 
nouncing angrily  that  she  had  a  marriage  certificate 
in  a  storeroom  at  the  hotel,  in  her  trunk.  Then, 
before  the  doctor  or  the  nurse  or  anybody  could 
stop  her,  she  hurried  out  of  the  hospital,  and  it  was 
more  than  an  hour  before  she  came  back;  but  then, 
her  defiant  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  her  hands 
trembling,  she  had  the  marriage  license  with  her  and 
she  spread  it  out  on  the  table,  with  the  money  that 
she  was  to  pay.  The  nurse  who  was  registering 
her  looked  at  it,  and  put  her  down  as  Mrs.  Kaleema 
West  Barton,  although  the  name  of  Barton  had  not 
once  passed  her  lips,  and  then  Mrs.  Barton  seized 
it  and  started  to  tear  it  up.  But  the  nurse  quickly 


KALEEMA  285 

took  it  from  her,  and  she  never  saw  it  again  until 
the  day  she  left  the  hospital.  At  first  the  doctors 
and  nurses  called  her  Mrs.  Barton,  but  she  said  very 
quietly,  though  not  looking  at  them,  "  Please  use 
my  right  name.  I  am  Miss  West." 

At  first  she  would  sit  for  hours*  by  the  bed  that 
had  been  allotted  to  her,  with  her  arms  on  it  and  her 
face  buried  in  them,  sobs  convulsing  her,  though  she 
tried  to  be  quiet  and  not  disturb  anybody.  With 
everything  else  that  she  was  thinking,  she  was  blam- 
ing herself  bitterly  that  she  had  not  been  much 
kinder  to  the  Giniven  child.  If  anybody  spoke  to  her 
unnecessarily  she  would  quietly  get  up  and  walk 
away.  Not  one  word  that  could  be  avoided  passed 
her  lips ;  but  once,  in  the  night,  when  a  nurse  came 
near  she  said  to  her: 

"  Will  you  kindly  give  this  message  to  the  doctor 
—  if  he  possibly  can,  for  God's  sake  to  let  us  both 
die." 

The  nurse  tried  to  say  something,  but  Kaleema 
buried  her  head  in  the  covers.  The  rest  of  the  night 
she  lay  there  wide-awake,  her  lips  ceaselessly  mov- 
ing, burning  tears  drenching  her  soft  dark  hair  and 
the  pillow. 

Even  when  the  baby  was  lustily  crying,  it  seemed 
to  the  doctors  and  nurses  that  her  lips  would  never 
cease  moving  (it  must  be  that  they  were  praying), 
or  the  hot  tears  cease  flowing  —  that  she  would  never 
open  her  eyes  and  face  the  world.  They  gave  her 


286  KALEEMA 

what  care  they  could,  but  she  never  complained. 
She  would  scarcely  look  at  the  baby,  but  she  caught 
the  nurse's  hand  frantically  and  whispered,  "  Is  it 
—  deformed  —  or  anything?  "  The  nurse  said  no, 
but  she  interrupted  with,  "  For  God's  sake  let  it 
die!" 

After  that  all  that  she  begged  was  to  get  away 
from  the  hospital,  and  at  last,  one  day,  they  let  her 
go.  She  left  with  her  once- free,  strong,  brave  little 
hands  full  of  the  soft,  breathing  bundle. 

The  wife  of  the  hotel  proprietor  had  promised 
to  let  her  stay  and  do  some  sewing  to  pay  for  her 
board.  She  needed  money  badly.  While  she  was 
with  "  The  Waiting  "  she  had  saved  all  the  money 
she  could ;  but  many  of  the  jumps  were  awkward  - 
they  had  often  stayed  at  three  hotels  in  twenty-four 
hours  —  and  the  hospital  took  a  good  deal  more. 

The  proprietor's  wife  was  very  good  to  her.  She 
tucked  her  away  in  a  comfortable  little  room,  and 
when  she  went  out  and  closed  the  door  Kaleema  took 
her  first  long  look  at  the  baby. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  the  two  had  been  alone. 
Here  no  curious  eyes  were  watching  them.  It  was 
asleep,  and  she  had  carefully  put  it  down  on  the 
bed.  She  stood  and  looked  at  it,  pity  and  horror 
and  helplessness  in  her  eyes.  She  seemed  afraid 
to  touch  it  She  had  never  kissed  it.  "  God  for- 
give me,"  she  said  aloud.  Then  she  dropped  down 
on  her  knees  and  covered  her  face.  "  Poor  little 


KALEEMA  287 

thing,  forgive  me,  forgive  me!  O  God,  let  it  die, 
let  it  die !  Forgive  me  for  blaming  my  poor  mother 
for  the  life  that  was  forced  on  me.  Forgive  me  for 
ever  blaming  my  poor  mother !  " 

This  was  the  hour  that  for  so  long  she  had  been 
foreseeing  with  terror.  She  was  alive  and  the  baby 
was  alive.  The  release  of  death  had  been  denied 
them,  and  they  went  out  in  the  world,  clinging  now  to 
life  madly  and  paying  to  the  end  for  living.  She 
had  done  just  what  she  had  blamed  her  mother  for 
doing  —  only  it  was  worse  in  her,  because  she  knew. 
Again  life's  lessons  would  go  for  nothing.  Each 
one  had  to  learn  by  living.  She  could  only  stand 
by,  helpless,  while  God  put  the  baby  back  to  the  be- 
ginning. ...  At  last  she  was  thinking  bitterly 
against  God. 

By  and  by  she  went  downstairs  and  came  back 
with  a  pile  of  work  in  her  arms. 

She  sewed  pretty  steadily  every  day,  for  the  little 
bundle  on  the  bed  slept  a  great  deal.  Of  course  it 
cried,  too,  but  if  it  did  n't  stop  when  she  fussed  with 
it  the  proprietor's  wife  would  come  in,  and  she 
seemed  to  know  just  what  to  do.  Then,  when  it 
stopped  crying,  she  would  take  it  around  the  hotel 
and  show  it  to  people.  Its  mother  worried  her  a 
great  deal  more  than  the  baby  did.  She  tried  to  talk 
to  her,  but  Kaleema  would  just  put  her  hands  over 
her  silent  lips  and  hurry  out  of  the  room. 

She  had  promised  Sarah  to  write  often,  but  she 


288  KALEEMA 

wrote  just  once,  a  few  lines.  One  morning  when 
she  was  up  at  five  o'clock  with  the  baby,  she  wrote 
to  Gertrude.  All  that  she  said  was  that  she  wanted 
her  freedom  and  knew  that  Harold  wanted  his,  and 
she  begged  of  him  to  start  immediately  whatever 
it  was  necessary  to  do.  She  gave  no  address  but 
the  "  Clipper,"  and  then  she  hurried  out  and  put  the 
letter  in  a  street  box.  She  had  planned  long  ago 
that  this  was  what  she  would  do  just  at  this  time,  if 
she  lived.  When  it  was  really  done  a  great  weight 
was  lifted  from  her  mind.  At  night,  after  the  sew- 
ing was  put  away  and  the  bundle  on  the  bed  was 
settled  down  for  a  few  hours,  she  would  shade  the 
light,  and  in  a  few  minutes  would  find  herself  back 
there  kneeling  by  the  bed,  the  burning  tears  on  her 
cheeks  and  her  lips  repeating  the  almost  ceaseless 
words,  "O  God,  don't  let  it  live  for  just  misery! 
Let  it  die,  let  it  die.  Poor  little  thing,  forgive  me !  " 

One  night  while  she  was  kneeling  there  she  heard 
a  slight  sound,  and  when  she  turned  her  head  she 
saw  that  the  door  was  softly  opening.  Then  a  man 
stepped  into  the  room's  dim  light. 

"  George  Carney !  "  she  whispered. 

He  gently  closed  the  door,  and  she  got  to  her 
feet. 

The  next  instant  he  was  holding  both  her  hands 
and  the  old  look  of  welcome  was  in  her  eyes.  He 
did  not  speak;  he  just  smiled. 

"  George  Carney !  "  she  said  again.     She  had  not 


KALEEMA  289 

seen  him  since  August.     All  at  once  she  knew  how 
she  had  been  missing  him  and  longing  for  him. 

"  Sarah  wrote  me  that  you  would  n't  write  to  her, 
so  I  came  in  for  two  hours.  Where's  the  star 
juvenile?  "  It  was  so  good  to  hear  his  voice  again. 

She  turned  and  pointed  to  the  bundle. 

He  went  to  the  bed  and  leaned  over  it.  She  fol- 
lowed and  turned  back  the  covers  until  the  little  face 
could  be  seen.  Then  she  looked  at  Carney.  The 
dents  under  his  eyes  were  deepening  and  his  fine 
teeth  were  glistening  in  the  dim  light. 

'  You  are  laughing  at  it !  "  she  exclaimed,  her 
voice  low,  not  to  waken  the  baby. 

"  It  is  certainly  the  homeliest  thing  I  ever  beheld," 
he  whispered. 

"  How  horrid  of  you!  Everybody  says  it 's  per- 
fectly splendid.  When  we  were  its  age  I  suppose  we 
looked  just  as  bad." 

He  shook  his  head.     That  was  hard  to  believe. 

She  pulled  up  a  chair  for  him  and  sat  down  on  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  She  wanted  to  hear  all  about  the 
show.  He  told  her  all  the  news  that  had  reached 
him,  but  he  did  not  tell  her  that  for  a  long  time  he 
had  been  getting  letters  from  Sarah  telling  him  about 
her.  And  then  he  began  chuckling  over  his  good 
luck.  The  show  was  doing  well,  and,  if  it  kept  up, 
next  season  he  would  put  out  two  or  three  companies. 
Then  he  began  turning  his  hat  in  his  hands  and 
said,  casually,  that  he  had  thought  she  might  need 


290  KALEEMA 

some  money  now,  so  he  had  written  Charley  to  ad- 
vance her  some  on  next  season.  She  tried  to  re- 
monstrate, but  he  would  not  listen. 

"  But  probably  next  season  I  can't  leave  the  baby." 

"  Then  I  '11  send  you  out  in  '  East  Lynne '  and  it 
can  go  along  and  play  Little  Willie." 

She  laughed  for  the  first  time  in  months.  They 
talked  about  the  cold  weather,  about  the  jumps,  and 
about  Sunday  dates  and  what  big  towns  were  booked 
for  the  rest  of  the  month.  Then,  when  he  had 
reached  the  end  of  his  rope  of  conversation,  he  got 
up  apparently  to  go.  As  he  did  so  an  overwhelm- 
ing something  seized  her.  She  wanted  him  to  stay. 
He  went  to  the  door  and  put  his  hand  on  the  knob. 
Then,  rather  suddenly,  he  put  his  hat  on  the  dresser 
and  his  two  big  hands  on  her  two  shoulders.  He 
looked  straight  at  her.  For  the  second  time  in  their 
lives  she  knew  that  something  was  coming.  This 
time  she  let  it  come, 

"  "Leema,  are  you  entirely  through  with  that 
cad?" 

"  Yes." 

Then  for  the  second  time  in  their  lives  he  took  her 
tight  in  his  arms.  And  this  time  she  stayed  there. 

"And  when  you  can,  you  will  marry  me?" 

"And  the  baby,  too?" 

It  was  ambiguous,  but  he  seemed  to  understand. 

"  You  don't  suppose  that  we  would  feed  it  to  the 
lions?" 


KALEEMA  291 

She  pushed  away  and  looked  at  him.  Carney, 
always  Carney,  when  the  world  seemed  darkest. 
But  even  then  she  never  thought  of  gratitude.  She 
was  too  utterly  blinded  by  the  conviction  that  she 
had  always  loved  him. 

"  Not  unless  you  truly  believe  that  it  is  not  just 
because  you  always  help  me  when  things  seem  the 
hardest." 

"  I  believe  that  you  would  have  married  me  in 
the  beginning  if  — " 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  a  dream,"  she  said.  "  But 
you  are  better  than  what  dreams  are  made  of." 

He  smiled.  "  I  am  very  far  from  a  dream,"  he 
said. 

"  Can  you  ever  forgive  me  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"For  what?"  he  said. 

For  what!  She  understood.  She  could  not 
speak.  She  was  silently  thanking  God  for  the  law- 
fulness that  George  Carney  wanted  in  a  woman  and 
to  which  she  had  clung.  She  forgot  her  bitter  de- 
rision. 

Then  she  found  her  voice.  "  And  if  I  get  cross 
and  slap  the  baby,  will  you  please  slap  me  ?  "  He 
laughed.  "And  don't  ever,  ever,  ever  let  her  be 
like  me,"  said  Kaleema. 

For  answer  he  took  her  back  in  his  arms. 
"When  will  you  be  free?" 

"  I  have  already  written  to  his  sister." 

Presently  he  looked  at  his  watch.     It  was  fifteen 


292  KALEEMA 

minutes  of  train  time.     One  last  kiss  and  word  and 
he  was  gone. 

She  softly  closed  the  door  after  him  and  turned 
back  into  the  room,  and  before  she  knew  what  she 
had  done  she  had  fallen  on  her  knees  by  the  bed  and 
was  kissing  the  baby. 


000  725 


